Served Cold
by Your Angel of Music
Summary: When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants escapes the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he knows the best way to hurt Jack Harkness. There is one problem, however - Ianto Jones is dead. A Children of Earth Fix-It.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Served Cold**  
Fandom:** Torchwood**  
Characters/Pairings:** Jack/Ianto, Grey**  
Ratings/Warnings:** R – rape, abuse, torture.**  
Spoilers:** All series.**  
Summary:** When the Hub explodes, and the cryogenic chambers are flung open, one of its inhabitants manages to flee the wreckage. Seeking revenge, he decides that the best way to hurt Captain Jack Harkness is through a certain Welshman. There's one problem, however – Ianto Jones is dead…**  
****  
Genre:** Hurt/Comfort, Children of Earth Fix-It.

**A/N:** This is a trial chapter for a fiction I am planning to write once I have finished Kryptonite. I'd love to hear your responses to it before I start to plan it in more depth.

* * *

**Served Cold**

"_**La vengeance se mange très-bien froide"**_

_**Mathilde**_** by Marie Joseph Eugène Sue**

Ianto didn't remember breathing hurting so much.

As he forced that first lungful of air into his body, a searing pain racked through his insides, forcing him to arch upwards. It was like a thousand knives being run over the tender flesh of his windpipe, tearing at his body with relentless force. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

Instead, he just lay there, gasping.

There was an incessant throbbing at the side of his chest as his heartbeat was forced back into a rhythm, an agonising snapping and crushing as his hardened muscles were pulled apart and loosened. He writhed with the pain, fists clutching blindly at the solid form holding him as his death-stricken body was knitted back together, forced back into life against its will.

Living hurt more than dying.

Hands clutched tightly around him as his body continued its spasm, every cell screaming as it was wrenched back from the darkness. Ianto couldn't make out the face – his eyes hurt too much to be able to focus. What he did know, however, was that the hold was tight, obviously putting a barrier between him and any surfaces that could do him damage.

Eventually, the pain began to subside. Ianto blinked once, twice, trying desperately to readjust his eyes to the blinding light around him as the jerking of his body began to still. His muscles were still trembling, making it difficult for him to bring anything around him into focus; all he could register was that tight grip, that hold that was not letting go.

A fuzzy outline began to emerge as he gained control over his rebellious body, and he struggled to sharpen the picture.

A strong jaw, gray-blue eyes, those full lips that were oh-so-familiar…

"Jack?"

The words were barely audible, his voice-box shrieking in rebellion as the croaking sound was forced from his throat. Even so, the figure obviously heard them. The shoulders began to shake, the arms tightening around him as a deep, throaty laugh burst from those now-not-so-familiar lips.

No, not Jack…but…

Ianto tried frantically to scramble away, but his loosened muscles failed him. He found himself sinking helplessly closer to the shadow holding him, each touch sending a wave of nausea shooting through his already damaged body. Arms snaked further around him, smoothing teasingly through his hair and sliding beneath the fabric of his ruffled waistcoat. Finding a single ounce of strength, Ianto reached up and pushed that hand away, groaning inwardly as it returned to rest on his stomach after the last of his energy had failed him.

"If I was Jack you wouldn't mind this…" the figure snorted, running his fingers in small circles along Ianto's abdomen. The Welshman felt fiery hatred, as much as he could muster, shooting through his synapses, jolting him to life. He pushed away again, ashamed at his own weakness as the cold shadow laughed at him.

"You…not…Jack…" he managed, his heart rate forcing oxygen to his muddled brain. For a brief, embarrassing second, all he wanted was his sister, his sister holding him and cradling him and smoothing his hair…but she wasn't here. She thought he was…

_Oh fuck, Rhi…_

"How?" he forced the words from his throat, spitting them towards that cruel face like venom – he saw some of his saliva settle on the jawbone of his assailant, and he felt a childish tinge of smugness. "Why…"

"Nanogenes…give it a template, and it will rebuild," those white teeth were spread in a grin as Ianto was hoisted into a sitting position, ragged nails digging into his shoulders. Warm breath breezed over his features, and he closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his nose.

"You'd have thought Jack would have told you about these, if he really cared," the words were snarled at him, spittle flying into his face with each punctuated syllable; Ianto squeezed his eyes further shut as the hands began to shake his limp frame. "But he doesn't. You should have learnt that – it's all his fault, always. He destroys people."

"You…insane…"

"And whose fault is that, Ianto Jones?" the Welshman was forced backwards, his shoulders smarting as they collided with the rough stone. "Who did this to me? Who?"

"Not Jack…not his…"

"Who else do I blame?" those blue eyes descended into a grey void, and Ianto found himself shrinking pathetically as he finally conceded that there was no energy left in his body. "Who else do I punish?"

A sudden grin tore his face wide as he leaned over Ianto's prone form. The Welshman shivered – he preferred the anger.

"You'd think you dying would be punishment in itself. But not enough – he's too used to it. He didn't even bat an eyelid when the Hub blew up, never once stopped to think 'what about the guy in the vaults?'. What about _me_? I want him to _suffer_, and I want him to _hurt_. You felt that way too once, remember?"

Ianto shuffled in his position, willing his limbs to start working properly as his captor continued to rant, eyes gleaming gleefully with insanity.

"I bet you didn't know, did you, that he nearly destroyed the world with the same Nanogenes I just used to bring you back. Pulled off a con that nearly destroyed everything. It was only stopped by the Doctor; I know, I was _there_. I _followed _him through the ages, just waiting. You don't know anything about him, you don't know what he does, yet you're so blind that you _died_ for him."

A sharp laugh pierced the air, and Ianto felt his whole body tense, the anger in him pushing the energy through his screaming muscles. He rose up from his position, catching his knuckles on the jaw of his attacker, sending him sprawling. The floor scraped through the fabric of his trousers as he hauled himself to his feet, setting off at a sprint that sent fire shooting through his body. He grimaced, biting back the pain as a roar of anger echoed behind him. He kept running.

He had to get away. He had to find Jack. He had to tell him that it _wasn't his fault_.

Suddenly, he came to a wall. Only, it wasn't a wall. It was a window, a window spread wide across the stone. And, as he watched the planets float by outside that thick glass, he knew that he couldn't get away.

Succumbing to the pain, he sank bonelessly against the cold, see-through material, grimacing as footsteps neared him. A hand gripped the back of his shirt, forcing him forward so that his teeth rattled in his skull and his forehead split against the crystal glass. He felt cold steel run along the length of his arm, a thick liquid following its path – he knew it was blood, knew it was _his_ blood, but he also knew there was nothing he could do.

The throbbing in his body grew to a fever-pitch, and he felt a faint, pleasant buzzing run through his head. He knew it would be easier to let unconsciousness take over, to let himself sink into the faint his body was screaming at him to succumb to. But he was stubborn. He didn't want to be helpless anymore – he bit hard onto his lip, the sharp pain jolting his body awake.

Rough lips brushed his ear, teeth catching at the lobe and tearing.

"He thought losing you was hard, but it's not really because that's just the _end_," a course tongue followed the teeth along the cartilage of his ear, and Ianto shivered ever so slightly, the limpness of his body sending a spark of sheer panic through his veins.

"Imagine what it would be like, knowing you were out here, lost in the stars, knowing that I had you, knowing what I was _doing_, and not being able to do anything about it. Imagine how much that would _hurt_. Bringing you back was the best revenge – I can hurt him more with you alive than I ever could with you dead."

Ianto felt himself spun around, fingers dipping into the blood running down his arm, smearing the dense liquid onto his face and neck.

"Now then…" the Welshman felt his mind grow fuzzy as the figure moved closer, the strap on his arm raised high above and aimed towards them. "Let's send my brother a postcard…"

* * *

_As I said, this is a trial chapter. This idea has been buzzing around my head for about six months, and last night I was bitten by a plot bunny that would NOT let go, so I had to write it. It's continuation depends on people's response - "Kryptonite" is my priority right now, but if the response is good then I will begin work on this. _

_Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 1

_The response to this has been fantastic and overwhelming. Seeing as Kryptonite is kicking me in the head at the minute every time I try to write it, I decided to let this bunny take over for now. Thank you so much for your comments, and I hope I can meet your expectations._

_

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_

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 1**

x  
x**  
**

Jack leaned out over the railing, listening intently to the incessant bustling of the ship. The deck was thronged with people, pushing past one another in a haste to be done with their business. Many of them were dressed in smart evening wear, leading the way to the main ballroom where tonight's dinner was to take place.

Jack wasn't invited to the dinner. He had stowed away in the bowels of the ship, luckily finding himself a spare bed in the steerage section. Even out here, in the depths of space, class and decorum were major dictators.

Wrapping his coat around himself and sighing heavily, he leant further, almost wishing that he could melt through the thick glass embedded into the wall. The stars floated by outside, beauteous and almost sexual. They sang of wonders, of endless time; their endless music never seemed too dull for his ears.

Although, he had to admit, the song now seemed ever so slightly off key.

Shaking his head, he took a step back, surveying the great space before him. All different colours and species, some of them with more limbs than others, some speaking in languages that could only be understood by themselves and their companions. He concentrated his ears, losing himself in the diversity. It was easy to drown in them, and drowning was why he was here.

Suddenly, an arm landed on his; a gentle, allluring touch. He turned, that legendary grin flashing across his face.

"Why, gorgeous, all alone?" the words flowed through the purple lips, a long tongue flicking over the lips, moistening the flesh tantalisingly.

"Some people just can't appreciate a thing of beauty," he grinned, taking a step forwards, bathing in the warm glow that seemed to emit from her reddish scales. The arm moved downwards, that shimmery touch drawing small circles across his wrist and over his pulse.

She sidled closer, pressing the length of her slender body against him, the cold blood coursing through her veins sending a delightful chill into his skin, even through the rough material of his coat.

"And yet, some of us can," again, a hiss, that tongue flicking out to moisten the lips.

"Well then, your taste, ma'am," he lowered his head, almost mockingly, catching hold of her chilled hand and brushing his lips against it. "Is impeccable."

"What can I say, I have always had a good eye," a cold smile, alluring in its iciness. "I know what I like. How may I address you?"

His smile faltered, but only for a second. His grip on her hand intensified, keeping it pressed closely to his face to inhale her futuristic scent.

"I'm nobody," he whispered, cocking his head mischievously "I'm a mystery. But doesn't that just make it more exciting?"

x  
x

_There was hay beneath him – he wasn't sure weather it was hay; in fact, it was probably some alien plant, some dried, rotting, extra-terrestrial flora. But, for now, he was going to call it hay. It was easier. _

_Curling in on himself, he wrapped his arms around him for warmth, feeling the cuts littering his body biting into him with each movement. He shuddered, testing the rough leather binding his hands experimentally. Letting his mind wander, imagining the impossibilities screaming from the stars he could see through the window, he wondered whether he could break through, whether he could somehow wriggle free. A few sharp twists told him that that was just a fantasy. A dream as fantastical as all his childhood beliefs in happy endings. _

_There were footsteps coming towards him, and he flinched again, drawing his tired legs up into a foetal position. _

"_Oh, so shy?" a sharp kick, delivered to his ribs. He grunted, pursing his lips together in an attempt to still the scream that threatened to break from his lungs. Fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his face level with the leering features of his captor. A tongue was run roughly over the skin of his neck, lapping up the crusting blood from the wounds on his cheek. _

_His assailant had taken great pleasure in using the wounds that already existed on his body. Piercing once again the faint scar of his appendectomy, pressing hot metal against the remnants of that cigarette burn, drawing his knife slowly over the lingering scar on the side of his face. _

_Reopening old wounds, the madman had joked. _

_He squirmed away, wriggling like a snake, determined to show defiance in the face of this pain. He was beaten, but he was not going to crumple. It was pathetic, he knew, but as he heard the scraping of cold steel sharpening against the rocks of the wall, he reached out with his mind. _

_Jack…_

_x  
x  
_

Jack flopped back onto the bed, gasping as the last remnants of cold tentacles flickered along his cooling skin. He could feel the burn through his body, that blessed release shooting through every muscle. Stretching out and wrapping his arm around the waist of his red-skinned companion, he let a small chuckle escape his swollen lips.

"Oh, baby, you are _good_."

Slithering fingers tapped out a beat on the muscles of his stomach, drawing icy lines across his pectorals and abdomen.

"I have been told," she drawled lazily, tail flicking out from behind her to catch him lightly across the thigh. He shifted at the impact, huffing out a laugh and letting her flip him onto his back. The laugh pushed out of him with more forced as she straddled him, holding him down with her purple-flecked tail.

"You want more?"

"I want _everything_," she hissed, running that long tongue down from his ear. He moaned as it travelled downwards, swirling around his right nipple. His arousal began to grow, pulse heightening as her strong nails scratched down, down, _there_.

_You can have me, have everything. I don't want it anymore._

Suddenly, just as that tongue flicked close to its goal, he felt his wrist strap buzzing. Instinctively, he turned his head, focusing on the shaking material of the technology calling to him.

Her head shot up from his groin, reaching up to pin his wrist to the bed before he could investigate the buzzing.

"Leave it," she growled, circling that long, pink muscles around the base of his cock, sending a burst of pleasure and sweet, sweet oblivion shocking through his mind. He jerked against her, reaching down with his free hand to grip at her hair, forcing those lips around the head of his erection.

She complied, her breath huffing against the wet flesh. He lost himself in the wonder of the sensation, of that tail flicking itself over his entrance, nudging inside, of that tongue committing sins of a devilish nature against his throbbing flesh. For a few wonderful moments, he closed his eyes and forgot who he was. By the time she had done with him, he could barely remember his own name.

Although, of course, he'd forgotten that a long time ago.

Coming down slowly from the waves of his orgasm, he lay back, sinking into the soft material of the bed sheets. His companion swallowed, releasing his now limp cock from her lips and sidling up beside him, gently drawing small circles onto the flesh of his thigh with her flexible tail. He sighed deeply, putting out an arm to rest beside his head as he licked his lips.

"Well…" he let a laugh escape from between his teeth once again. "That was…"

"Intriguing," that tongue flicked out, punctuating the words. "Enticing. Glorious."

"I guess that's better than what I had in mind, so we'll go with that."

His bed mate grinned wickedly, releasing his wrist from her grasp. Cocking her head suddenly, she focused her gaze on the wrist strap, noting that the gentle buzzing had failed to cease in its movements.

"Someone is trying to contact you," her head twitched, fingers gripping his wrist to examine the device. "This technology, it is calling to you."

Jack snatched his hand back, cradling it against his chest. The last thing he wanted to do now was think about the fact that someone was reaching out to him, that someone, maybe someone from his past (he shuddered, pushing the painful memories aside) was trying to talk to him. He didn't want to interrupt the heady, numb feeling spreading delightfully through his body. He just didn't want to _feel_ anymore, _goddamit_.

He wasn't ready to think. All he wanted to do was forget.

"They can wait," he snapped, fiddling with buttons and turning the infernal thing off. "I have all the time in the world, after all."

x  
x

_One hundred thousand earth miles away, Ianto Jones finally screamed. _

_x  
x  
_

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_TBC...  
_


	3. Chapter 2

**A Quick Note Regarding Reviews**: _Those of you who have read my work will be aware that I am loathe to ask explicitly for reviews. I prefer to think that, if you have something to say, that you will be willing to share. However, I have recently begun to think about this policy, likening it to an experience in my every day life. I work as a waitress in a family-run restaurant: it's a lovely place, with amazing people, friendly service, and wonderful food. My boss, however much we suggest it may be a good idea, refuses to add "Service Not Included" on the bills, as she hates the idea that she might be perceived as begging for tips. We all know that this is wrong, that it wouldn't be perceived as begging, but we can't change her mind. It's like that with reviews. I'm just like my boss, refusing to swallow my pride and ask for reviews, even when I know that when I get a review it boosts my esteem and makes the writing come a lot easier. That's one of the reasons that "Kryptonite" has been so hard to write at the minute, the decreasing number of reviewers. It's disheartening when we don't get a tip as we feel as though we have done a bad job, even if we know we haven't. It's the same with writing._

_So here I am, swallowing my pride. Your reviews mean so much to me, and they inspire my muse. Please, if you are reading my story, if you have favourited it or put it on alert (and I love you all, I'm actually overwhelmed by you), why not drop me a quick note to let me know what you think? The more feedback I get, the more quickly inspiration seems to come. And I'm no longer ashamed to ask for it. _

_Thank you! _

_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 2**

x

x**  
**

_Ianto felt his muscles clench tightly, painfully, ripping a scream from his throat as he was dragged back. The Nanogenes worked quickly, knitting together the gaping wound in his stomach, tearing him away from the brink of death. _

_Drawing himself up into a ball and tucking his head to his knees, he let a pained breath escape his lips. His cheek was wet, rested on the stone floor which was swimming in his own blood. The crimson liquid seemed to be everywhere, covering his body, leaking out of every orifice; he could even taste it on his tongue, and he spat furiously._

_Somewhere, in his foggy brain, he began to realise just why Jack came back as he did, crying out and grasping for comfort. He understood just why he needed to be held and reassured after returning from the darkness. The journey from nothingness to the brightness of the living world was painful, like knives slicing into every inch of his body. _

_The only difference was that there was no one to hold him, now. _

_There were gentle fingers stroking over his back, inching like snakes beneath the un-tucked shirt and continuing their caress along the plains of his spine. It would have been nice, if he hadn't retained enough awareness to know just who they belonged to. He squirmed as they descended lower and inched beneath the waistband of his torn trousers, forcing his assailant away from him with a sideways movement of his leg. His stomach, and the newly-healed wound, screeched in response, forcing him to curl up again. _

_He was being recorded. He knew he was. He'd heard the click of buttons as the wrist strap was held above him, following each torturous second as the other hand slowly inched the knife into his abdomen. The wound throbbed once more at the memory, and he exhaled a low groan from between his lips, unable and unwilling to try and contain it within him. _

_Another click as all sound left him, signalling the end of the recording. Then there was warm breath against his ear, chapped, scratchy lips pressing against the hollow of his throat. Sharp, jagged teeth bit down on the flesh there – he could feel blood, the world beginning to spin. _

"_We'll send this to my brother," a low voice whispered, a sound strung with gleeful pleasure. "See if he doesn't reply to this one." _

_That breath inched closer, only blocked by the bound hands that Ianto held against his face, protecting his eyes and his lips from the onslaught. _

"_If he even cares, that is…" _

x

x

Jack had had to flee the carrier ship, soon after his relations with red skinned beauty had begun.

As luck would have it (_his_ luck, of course), his bed mate of the past few nights had turned out to be the Princess of the Oxorryans, the rightful heir to the crown of her people. Not that that would usually have inspired anything other than fascination and pride in Jack; fascination in learning something new about this glowing civilisation, and pride in having bedded someone of royal blood.

This was different, however.

The Oxorryans were renowned as the fascists of this part of the Galaxy. Fiercely protective of their own bloodline and ruthless in the face of any threat to the purity of their race, they lived to maintain themselves and to shun outsiders. In fact, he had even heard rumours that they carried out strategic blood samples, by law, on their own subjects in order to ensure that the genes had not been tainted.

Needless to say, the parents of his companion had not been best pleased to learn of the outsider gallivanting with their daughter. And, as with most parents, their anger was targeted not towards their own wayward offspring, but at the man whom they perceived as the "seducer" – in this case, Jack.

Somehow, he'd managed to board an escape pod before the baying masses, thirsty for his blood, had caught up with him. Somehow, he'd managed to override the security system without the use of his vortex manipulator (damned thing never did as it was told anymore) and get the pod away from the ship before the red-skinned hoards had broke down the door in their fury. And now here he was, running out of fuel and alone in the middle of space.

He huffed irritatedly, leaning back with such a force that his head thumped against the wall. The action probably cost him precious air as he sucked in sharply, rubbing at his throbbing skull, but he really couldn't summon the energy or the will to care. He'd survived 2,000 years buried alive beneath Cardiff after all, and if he could manage that…

The comparison had entered his mind before he could push it away, and the memory sent a wave of pain shooting through his heart. Clutching uselessly at his chest and closing his eyes, he swallowed it back harshly, forcing his mind to scroll through images of beautiful red scales against his skin, talented hands and dextrous fingers working alongside soft tongues to drive all thoughts of the past from his mind…_oh yes, right there_…

A sudden noise interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his head to peer out of the tiny window of the pod. Pulling alongside him was a ship, a warship, by any account; not too large, but discreet, the inter-galactic equivalent of a terrestrial tank. Jack found a grin spreading onto his face as the ship docked with his, strong boots sending vibrations echoing around him as the pod doors were forced open.

Ah yes, this was territory he knew.

x

x

"_Why isn't he GETTING them?"_

_Ianto watched as his captor began to pace, feet hitting roughly against the cold fibres of the ship; the noise rang through his overly sensitised body, each vibration making him wince before he could stop himself. _

"_It should be working. It should be going through. He should be getting these – if he doesn't get them, how can it _hurt_?" _

_Ianto bit down on his lip, barely even trying to repress the smug smile creeping onto his features. For all the pain, all the repercussions that would come from his arrogance, it was worth it just for tiny pang of victory that shone through him. It was akin to how it had felt as a kid, back-chatting that holier-than-thou police officer, and giving the judge just enough snark to put him off his stride. He'd known it would only get him punished more harshly at the end of the day, but that kick it produced was unrivalled as a prize. _

_Jack wasn't receiving the videos, the pictures. Jack didn't know he was here. _

_A small part of him trembled at the thought that he was here, all alone, that there was no hero in shining armour to sweep by and rescue him. But the petulant side of his mind, that section of his brain that had never seemed to grow out of childhood, revelled in the fact that this psychopath was losing. In a strange way, however this ended, it felt like he, Ianto Jones, had won. _

_Suddenly, a strong force gripped at his hair, pulling him upright and shoving him against the wall. _

"_Why isn't it working?" the words were snarled into his face, spittle flying from between the yellowed teeth. Ignoring the nausea churning in his stomach, Ianto laughed, the best he could as his abdomen began to throb with pain. _

"_It was blown up," he managed, gasping for breath as his head was wrenched further backwards, constricting his airway. "He doesn't have it." _

"_He does. They fixed it. I was watching, waiting – I saw them, the pregnant woman and the fat man, giving it to him. He used it to send a signal, to transport him onto the ship. That's when I knew the time was right to…"_

_He stopped, suddenly, eyes blazing as he realised that Ianto was still laughing. The sound came through as a pained gurgle rising from his throat, bringing with it a little blood which began to gather at the corners of his mouth. He didn't care, his eyes shining gleefully at the frustration building in the madman's eyes. _

"_Fixed it? With what? Of course it's not going to be working properly if they tried to fix it on Earth. What did they do, bang it against a table and hope that it would sort itself out?"_

_Ianto let out another sharp burst of laughter. Roaring with a violent anger, his assailant gripped his throat, stifling the sound and using the hold to flip him to the ground. His face hit cold rock, the scabbing wound on his cheek ripping open against the harsh surface. _

_As hands scrabbled at the waistband of his trousers, pulling the binds at his wrists even tighter before plunging beneath the crimson soaked material of his shirt, Ianto buried his face into the jagged hardness of the floor. All laughter was suddenly forgotten as he forced back the ragged cry which was tearing at his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he could just forget how to _feel_. _

"_Jack," he whispered instinctively as cold skin was forced on top of his own, his mind too busy screaming to register what it was that he was actually saying. _

"_Jack!" _

x

x

As Jack stepped onboard, hands clasped behind his head in the universal signal for surrender, his trained eyes scanned his surroundings warily. The creatures were humanoid, that much was certain, but their features were obscured by heavy metal casings surrounding their bodies, from the tips of the hair to the pads of their feet. The armour was painted a fluorescent yellow, interspersed with tongues of orange and red which was obviously meant to resemble fire.

Only soldiers who were well aware of their own power, or at least wrapped up in their own arrogance, would wear such a flamboyant costume. It was designed to intimidate, not to benefit the wearer in combat.

That, and the large guns which were cocked and aimed squarely at his temple, told him that these were not creatures to be messed with. At a quick signal from the leading soldier, Jack dropped to his knees and held out his arms, feeling hands rifle through the pockets of his coat and along the seams of his clothing. They retrieved his gun, quicky removing the bullets and placing it in a small tray. He tried to smile reassuringly, shifting awkwardly at the accusing glares that shone from beneath the masks.

"By Charter 616 of the Shadow Proclamation, any creature travelling in deep space has the automatic right to carry defensive weapons, as long as there are no malicious intentions," he recited, his grin widening as the creatures looked from one to the other, obviously considering his words. "And I surrendered to you, thereby negating any offensive purposes I may have had."

The tallest creature, whose ornate, intricate armour proclaimed him to be the chief of this particular band, stepped forward, his gun lowered but still poised for immediate action. He motioned towards Jack's wrist.

"You have the technology of a time agent."

Jack glanced at his wrist, feigning nonchalance as a slight tinge of panic stuttered inside him. Time Agents were not the most well-loved of beings when caught alone in deep space – in fact, he might as well go as far to say they were feared. And if there was one thing he had learnt through all his long years, it was that fear bred violence.

"Oh, this?" he waved his arm ever so slightly, causing the soldiers' fingers to tense dangerously around their guns. "It's dull, nascent, primitive – don't even think it works properly, anymore, to be honest."

He tried for a laugh, letting it huff unconvincingly between his lips. But, no sooner had the words left his lips, than the manipulator began to hum violently against his skin. He hurriedly scrabbled to find the switch to turn it off, but not before a loud, shouted command had echoed from beneath the mask of the chief, and a dozen weapons had been trained and fired.

The last thing he heard, before he hit the ground in a pool of his own blood, was an almost unintelligible, yet painfully familiar voice crackling from the leather strap at his wrist.

"Ja - - ack!"

x

x

_TBC..._

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_Now, for my first chapter I received eight reviews. Let's not see if we can't equal that, shall we? Your feedback feeds the bunny, a hungry bunny does not a good story make. _

_Thank you for reading!  
_


	4. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you, all of you. I was going to change my words to be child friendly, but seeing as this is M rated, if you kiddies are reading then you only have yourselves to blame. So here goes: FUCK ME I LOVE YOU! I was certain you were all going to tell me where to stick it after my review-begging, but you've all been so supportive of my little crisis of confidence, and have really given me a boost. So thank you, all of you. Keep it up!_

_And now, in response to the news of a "bigger and better" Torchwood Series 4, which isn't even set in Cardiff and is lacking in a certain Welshman, I give you the truth. This fic is reality - anything the BBC comes up with is LIES!_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 3**

x

x**  
**

Gripping the bars of the tiny cell tightly, Jack pushed his face as close to his captors as he could reach, desperately trying to get their attention. It didn't work. Whatever it was they were doing, it was far more interesting, it seemed, than conversing with the man who had just come back to life in front of them. Which was something that Jack felt faintly offended by.

His foot tapped impatiently against the metal, the dull sound reverberating through the enclosed space and causing the armoured soldiers to turn and face him. He tried for a grin, feigning a nonchalance which did not match the nauseating churning currently taking place in his stomach.

"Hi there," he could feel the muscles of his mouth stretching, but he couldn't be completely sure whether it was forming a smile or a grimace. "As much as I love the whole cage and chains thing – always was a fan of you controlling types – I really, _really_ need that wrist strap."

The leading solider stepped forward, his ornate mask tilting dangerously close to where Jack's head was rested against the bars of the cell. The immortal resisted the urge to step away, tensing his muscles and keeping his eyes bored into the bright green orbs burning through the slits of the metal armour.

"You are a Time Agent." It was a statement, not a question. Jack shook his head, as violently as he dared.

"I _was_ a Time Agent. That was a long time ago."

"You have Time Agent technology," those eyes burned, and Jack blinked furiously. "You brought offensive weaponry onto my ship. By all rights, I can keep you locked up here."

"I _didn't_," Jack felt frustration tighten in his chest, combining unpleasantly with the feelings already swirling within him. "I fled the Time Agency a long time ago; I kept the technology for defensive purposes only. I had no control of the ship I was on, I didn't mean to stray into your territory…"

"You are a threat."

Jack bent his neck, resting his forehead against the metal dejectedly and barely noticing as the coldness bit into his skin.

"I just need that wrist strap. Please. I don't care what you do…train your guns on me, chain me up, I just _need_ to look at it."

The chief turned towards his band, gesturing them forward with his armour clad hand. They moved slowly, together, a perfect and well-oiled machine. Even through the myriad of emotions taking a ride on every nerve of his body, Jack couldn't help but be impressed. He had always been a soldier at a heart, a good one at that, and even after taking on the role of leader, his respect for the uniformity and togetherness of those of rank and file remained unrivalled. Even though his loneliness had become his best defence against the grief and heartache his immortality could bring, he felt a pang of jealousy in his heart at the memory of the camaraderie and interaction he had once had.

After a time of discussion in a language that Jack could not quite catch, the band turned to him as one, the combined effect of their piercing eyes and flamboyant amour pushing him back a step. The smile had fallen from his face – it wasn't working, they could sense its falseness, and he no longer had the heart to keep up the charade.

He was desperate. He just hoped that they had sense enough to see that.

x

x

_Footsteps reverberating from just beyond the room shook Ianto out of his sleep. Bringing his bound hands to his face and rubbing the backs of his grubby knuckles against his eyes, he fought off the unconsciousness that remained clinging to him. If his attacker was coming for him now, then he wanted to be awake. _

_Subconsciously, in his head, he was keeping a tally. It was something he had done as a kid, against his Dad, against his teachers, against the cops on the beat around his street. Within his memory he took each and every incident, locking them away in separate compartments and bringing them out whenever the chance for retribution arrived. Not that the opportunity ever came around very often, and he had very little hope that it would in this situation. But that was irrelevant; the tally was his way of keeping score, it was a habit, a tick. _

_It made him feel sane. _

_Entering the room with a spring in his step, his captor knelt down beside him, gripping tightly on the collar of his soiled shirt and hauling him upwards. Ianto followed the movement, wincing as the tattered edge of his shirt bit into the side of his neck. Even so, he resisted only slightly, holding back in an attempt to prove that he wasn't being controlled __**just**__ yet. _

_But the madman was in a good mood. His tiny fighting gesture only served to send a spark of glee through the merriment shining out of his eyes. _

"_You're still fighting? That's good. That's very good. It makes the videos more entertaining – no one wants to see a limp rag. Who'd feel sorry for that?" _

_Ianto breathed out through his nose, his stomach muscles clenching through fear at the joyful ring in the American twang. His voice was so like Jack's, each nuance and vowel so similar to those of his former lover, that he couldn't help but feel a pang of hatred every time he abused his words in such a way. It was like he was taking something that didn't belong to him, the one thing that still rang clearly through Ianto's mind, and destroying it bit by bit._

_He __**hated**__ him for that. _

"_You can't," he forced out, spittle gathering on his lips with the energy of speaking. "It won't connect, his wrist-strap isn't working. You're pathetic."_

_Knuckles struck him on the side of the face; he felt his nose crack as he hit the side of the ship, pain spreading through his skull at the impact. There was a warm sensation on his upper lip, liquid droplets trickling into his mouth from his shattered nose, but he resisted the urge to hold his injured face. _

"_That's where you're wrong, Ianto Jones," that leering face was level with his again, fingertips tapping out a disjointed beat against the side of his neck and trailing upwards along his jaw-line. "That's where you're so very wrong…" _

x

x

"Sit."

A metal clad finger pointed harshly towards Jack, gesturing violently from him to the ragged wooden bench in the corner. Sighing heavily and feeling his shoulders go slack in defeat, Jack stepped backwards and sat, wincing as the splintered wood jutted out into the skin of his thighs.

"Put your arms behind your head."

Jack complied, resting his wrists against the wall and leaning his head back into the palms of his hands. It was a position that made him vulnerable, a fact that was reinforced when the door was unlocked and one of the soldiers stepped in, swiftly cuffing his hands to the metal beam above the bench. But Jack suddenly didn't need the chains, the cage or the lack of weaponry to feel vulnerable. The voice that had floated, broken and disjointed, through the speakers; that brief snatch of vowels that had been so fleeting it was hard to work out whether or not he had really heard them after all…that was what had caused the sense of defeat flushing through him.

That was why he was giving in so easily, falling to his knees and begging like a dog until they gave him what he so desperately needed. If this was it took for only a brief snatch of time with his vortex manipulator, then they could do what they wanted with him.

When the soldiers were convinced that he was securely fastened, and of no particular threat, the leader of the band walked purposefully into the room, standing erect opposite the caged immortal as his henchman filed in behind him. There was a dull clicking of guns, followed the familiar, uncomfortable sensation of a dozen barrels being trained towards your head. Jack winced ever so slightly, a slight ache flowing through the muscles in his arms as he kept his back straight against the wall.

"You want us to return your technology to you?"

Jack nodded, the movement slightly weak as his body protested his current position.

"How can we trust you?"

"Like I said, train your guns on me, I just need to look at it."

"But…" Jack could almost see the tongue running along the lips behind the mask, could almost see the face scrunching up with a mixture of mirth and curiosity. "That would hardly be a threat, would it? Considering that the last time we dispensed with you, you were quite stubborn about actually dying."

Jack wriggled a little, clenching and unclenching his wrists to restore the blood flow to his fingers. He thought about lying, about making up a farcical story to explain his sudden resurrection, but these creatures were having none of it. They were trained in the art of interrogation, that much he could easily tell.

"I can't control it. Something happened to me, and now I don't stay dead. Trust me when I say sometimes I'd rather not come back."

The masked head cocked to the side, deliberating Jack's words, obviously sensing the tired, dull honesty behind them. Eventually he snapped his fingers, and one of his soldiers produced the wrist-strap from a bag that was suspended from the back of his fluorescent armour. Jack's eyes widened, and he instinctively reached for it, only remembering he was chained when his wrist struck the metal with a painful force.

"Please."

Jack watched as the chief took the manipulator from his henchman, turning it over his hands as he studied it. Frustration and impatience bubbled inside of him as the seconds seemed to drag on, longer and longer.

"_Please_."

At the strained tone of his words, the flamboyant soldier dropped the strap to his side, training his eyes on Jack and taking a step forward.

"I am satisfied that this technology is faulty, and that, even if you had an offensive purpose, you wouldn't be able to achieve it with _this_," the strap hung limply from his hand as he held it towards Jack. "We will unchain you, give you full use of your technology."

The relief spreading on Jack's face must have been too evident, as the bipedal figure drew his hand back ever so slightly, just out of Jack's reach.

"But that does not negate the fact that you strayed into the territory of this army. And the fact that you seem to be a miracle man who cannot die. I will do a trade with you," the creature bent his legs at the knee, hunkering down so that their faces were level. "If I return this to you, then you will agree to return home with us, to face trial for the crimes you have committed – trespass, the carrying of offensive weaponry. You will also make yourself available for study; giving up everything you know of your…_condition_."

Jack could almost sense the grin spreading across the concealed features as a shiver of delight seemed to pass through the soldier.

"The ability not to die would be a useful one indeed. You could teach us much."

Biting his lip, Jack repressed the urge to snarl at the quiet confidence in the soldier's voice, to mock him and tell him that he could do what he wanted with him but would find nothing. He held it back, however, because there was nothing else he could do. It would probably come to nothing, it was probably his mind torturing him with snapshots of the past, but he needed to _know_.

Because that voice had been haunting him for a long time, even though he had tried, and at times succeeded, in pushing it to the back of his thoughts. And, even though it was foolish to risk so much for so small a chance, to him, in his miserable, pointless existence, it was so _worth it_.

He raised his head, straightening his back to look his captor in the eye.

"I'll do it."

x

x

_A cold hand trailed down Ianto's face, chapped lips pressed against his ear as he was held against the side of the ship. A tremor ran through him with each cold breath that slid through the shell of his ear, his overworked mind imagining it working its way through his skull and into his brain._

"_You, Ianto Jones," fingers drew a line across his cheek, running over his tightly pursed lips and smearing the blood from his broken nose in swirling patterns over the skin of his face. His chin was gripped in a tight pinch and his neck twisted painfully, forcing him to look into swirling green eyes of the psychopath who held him. _

_His forehead was pressed against the brow of the other man, his aching muscles offering little resistance to the forced intimacy. A hissed chuckle, reverberating with the sound of victory, escaped from between the teeth of his captor, his lips so close that Ianto felt them brush against his own. _

"_You're the key…"_

_And then Ianto felt a pain like nothing he had ever experienced before in his life. It was so hot that he couldn't scream, like molten pincers being shot through his eyes and into his brain. He closed his eyes, seeing tongues of fire dancing across the skin of his eyelids. _

_For the first time since he had been wrenched back into life, Ianto Jones truly wanted to die. _

_x_

_x_

**TBC...**_  
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_Please review, to keep the creative juices flowing in the wake of the big Torchwood Series 4 shaped dam which has been built in an attempt throw me off course. _  
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	5. Chapter 4

_Thank you so much for your responses! You continue to blow me away. I should warn you that I am in the middle of my A Levels, and I need to get As in all my subjects in order to get into my chosen University (Cardiff). I have an exam every day next week, so this will be the last chapter I will be writing until they have finished. I know you will understand, and your continued support keeps me going in all aspects of my life. Thank you once again!_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 4**

x

x**  
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It had been six hours since the soldiers had handed him his vortex manipulator.

Six hours. Three hundred and sixty minutes. Twenty one thousand, six hundred seconds.

Jack had been counting. With each passing second he had turned the wrist strap over in his fingers, boring his eyes into the chafed leather and willing something to happen. But it had remained still in his hand, the coldness of the material sinking deeper into his skin with each impossibly quiet moment that had passed.

Boots clanged against the metal of the ship, and he turned to face the sound. A flame-decorated soldier stood beside the bars of his cage, peering his green eyes through the small slit in the face of his mask. Jack had begun to be able to tell them apart, through his time in captivity here. The ship itself was small, considering the numbers it was carrying, and the cell itself was painfully constricting; he'd had very little to do but study those around him.

He'd dubbed this particular one "Lofty". Slightly taller than the others, he loomed over Jack, his legs long and slim and leading almost effortlessly into a trim body. He wasn't quite skinny, but there was very little unnecessary fat on his body. Unlike some of his colleagues, he was not afraid to tower, his back straight even when the Commander passed him.

Perhaps it was the Commander's dislike of this fact that had led to him being assigned watching duties at Jack's cell. But it was exactly this that made Jack single Lofty out amongst his colleagues; he stood proud, despite his status, and he was not ashamed of who he was. Jack admired that, especially in such a regimented environment.

He leaned forward, smiling ever so slightly.

"Can I help you?"

If there hadn't been a mask obscuring his face, Jack was certain he would have seen a smile gracing those lips – whatever they actually looked like.

"The Commander bids me inform you that we shall be arriving within an hour."

Jack nodded slightly, his fingers clutching fearfully at his vortex manipulator. Lofty noticed, stepping forward in what Jack assumed was an attempt at reassurance.

"Your technology will not be removed from you. The Commander has informed the ground generals that it is useless and safe."

"Thank you," Jack didn't even pretend to suppress the relieved sigh that escaped from his lips. Even if the voice had been a figment of his imagination, as was beginning to appear likely, there was something very comforting about the gentle press of leather against his wrist.

"It's special to you?"

Lofty's dull voice suddenly seemed to spark with an unidentifiable emotion. Jack looked up, eyes meeting those green orbs sparkling through from the metallic armour.

"Why?"

"I've never known anyone to give up so much for so little."

Jack laughed dryly, pushing air through his lungs with little enthusiasm.

"The bargain was cheap. You sold your freedom."

"You don't need to be behind bars to be a prisoner," Jack drew one foot to the bench, hooking the crook of his elbow around his knee. It was a strangely comforting pose that at the same time offered an image of detachment. He'd used it often. He cast a glance towards Lofty, noting the tall frame and pinned back shoulders; he was the very image of decorum and posture. Jack had known people like that in his life, so many wonderful people...

He shook his head wearily, forcing away one hundred and fifty years of memories with one sweep of his head. It didn't do to dwell; that was one piece of wisdom immortality had granted him. Looking up, he realised that Lofty was still staring, incomprehension and pity shining in his eyes. It was the first time Jack had been able to discern any real emotion for these creatures, and the suddenness of it took him off guard.

In the face of sympathy in a long road of indifference, he couldn't help but drop his head, honesty shining freely through every pore of his body.

"I've had it a very long time," he whispered, cradling his arm to his chest so that the Time Agent technology pressed against his heart. "It's the only thing I have left."

The metal head cocked questioningly.

"But what about the voice?"

Jack raised his head, eyelids torn apart and eyes wide.

"What?"

"Someone was trying to contact you. A voice – it called you by name."

Jack's breath caught in his chest. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

"You…you heard it?"

"Yes."

Flopping back against the wall again, Jack ran a hand through his hair.

"So I wasn't…it was…" he tripped over his words, feeling the syllables dance over his tongue and entwine themselves together. An odd mixture of relief and terror washed through him, a conflagration of feelings and emotions that knocked the air from his lungs and weighed down heavily on his shoulders. He bent his head, drawing in a quick breath, one after the other, as he tried to organise the thoughts in his head.

Before he could make any sense of them, however, his wrist strap began to vibrate.

x

x

_Ianto tried not to scream as the swarming golden light gathered around his neck, his cells replenishing to fill the gaping hole that had been cut in his throat. He tried not to scream as the flesh was forced back together, each connection like needles stitching the wound without anaesthetic. _

_Maybe he would have succeeded if the madman didn't have a hold of his forehead, invading his mind and tearing at the edges of his thoughts. It was that touch, which was worse than any of the violations that he had experience so far beneath his psychotic, hungry hand, that ripped a scream from his throat. _

_At first it came out as a gurgle, a bubbling of blood from his torn voice box. But, as the nanogenes followed the template that his captor had given them, and his windpipe was knitted back to its original form, it was transformed from a low rasping to primal scream. _

_He'd done it. He didn't know how, but the madman had reached inside him, pulled something out, welded his mind in some way to the strap on his wrist like a common piece of wiring. And now he had a signal. Now, his messages were connecting. This was only trial run, he had been told gleefully, just a test, but just in case it had got through it had to be good. Give Jack something to think about, something to remember. _

_Ianto groaned heavily as the healing process finished, every muscle screaming in protest at not being allowed to let go. His whole body wanted to die, to give up, but they didn't seem to have a choice; once the madman had realised that it was fun to send him to the brink of death and bring him back, it had been his preferred method. Especially when he had realised just how ironic – painful – that would be to Jack's eyes. _

_And now, as he pulled away from Ianto, the link finished, he began to shift excitedly from side to side, hopping from one foot to the other as he punched buttons into the strap. _

"_That was amazing!" His breath came quickly, almost as if he was hyperventilating, and Ianto found himself wanting to shrink back but unable to do so. "The perfect shot! You're a proper star, a true performer. I was worried for a second that you wouldn't scream, that the take would be ruined, but it was the perfect timing, just as your throat was healing!"_

_The psychopath whooped suddenly, dropping to his knees beside Ianto and gripping on his hair and crashing their lips together. The scar that ran along his attacker's neck and face rubbed against Ianto's skin, chafing and burning at his flesh – but Ianto wasn't that sure if that was just his natural reaction to the foreign touch. _

_Pressing a button, he wrenched back on Ianto's hair so that they were both in the shot. _

"_Smile for my brother, lover boy…" _

x

x

The image was fuzzy at first, and Jack struggled to make it out. Squinting his eyes and fiddling with a few buttons, the crackling, bluish-tinged projection emerging from his wrist-strap began to float into focus. At first he could only see a blurry figure, a few crackled sounds, but very quickly both his eyes and the manipulator grew accustomed to the light and the video feed. Very soon, he could begin to make out a familiar shape.

Then he wished he hadn't seen.

That face, those eyes, so tired and worn, so desperately familiar. And then that stoicism as the knife flashed forward, as his skin was torn, the way he bit his lip as he choked and the golden light worked its magic. Water began to gather in the corner of his eyes as he watched those teeth tear into his lips as he struggled to suppress a scream, falling down his cheeks in hot cascades as that mouth finally parted and a gurgled scream forced its way from his tattered throat.

Lofty had entered the cell, swiftly unlocking the bars of the cage and stepping forward to stand by Jack's side. The immortal could feel his presence beside him, tall and stoic, and suddenly he hated him, hated him for his tallness and his straightness when the person he had tried to forget was lying on the floor, bleeding and broken and unable to suppress a scream of pain.

As the figure on the screen began to still, the spasms jerking at the limbs and body quietening down, Jack suppressed a choke, swallowing hard and biting at the inside of his cheeks. He could feel a lump settling in his throat, but he refused to cry out, especially when that familiar face on the screen had torn his lips to pieces attempting to hold his cry back. The least he could do was remain stubborn in the face of his pain – he'd been doing it his whole life after all.

The video ended abruptly, freezing on a shot of dulled blue eyes, staring intently at the screen. Jack stared at it for a few second, memories of the last time he had seen those eyes flowing through his mind. He remembered seeing them freeze over, sparkling one final time before being extinguished.

The shot in front of him now was painfully close to that. Only, last time they had been fighting to stay shining. Here, now, they looked as though they just wanted to give up.

It was that that forced the sob from Jack's throat. His head fell into his hands, fingers gripping at his hair and tugging, sparks of pain shooting through his scalp as he began to tear at the roots. When he'd lost him the first time, he'd never really cried – he hadn't had the chance. And since that point, he'd been repressing it with every fibre of his being.

It was all about survival. He'd had to survive; it was all every single person he had ever loved would have wanted him to do. They'd never forgive him if he let himself melt away, wrapped up in his ever building grief.

Now he felt it slamming into him with full-force. The guilt, and the blame, and the _pain_ of everything that had happened in those few eventful days. And there was nothing he could do, locked in a cell with nothing to distract his mind and chase the pain away.

"Who is that?" Lofty's voice was slow, quiet…tender even.

"That's…" he breathed hard, debating whether or not to say the words that were pressing against his lips. "…Ianto."

There was a sudden click. Jack looked up, one hand still buried in his hair as he steadied his wrist in front of him. The frozen picture began to wobble, melting haphazardly into a new image. This one was different. It was frozen, a still picture – only now there were two pairs of eyes.

Jack blinked as the face swam into focus, the face accompanying the hand gripping Ianto by the hair; that face that was built around sheer green eyes, shot through with glee, and joy, and sheer, absolute _insanity_…

Jack shot up from his seat, pressing his body against the bars and gripping them with his fingers.

"Hey!"

The soldiers turned, as one, towards him, eyes blazing through their fearsome masks.

"You have to let me go. Please, you have to let me go."

The Commander took a step forward, motioning with his head for Lofty to leave – the tall soldier quickly complied, sending Jack a look of apology as he brushed passed him. Jack wasn't paying any attention.

"Let me out."

"We had a deal."

"Deal's off," Jack snarled. "You won't find anything anyway, so I'm of no use to you."

The chief crossed his arms.

"You can't go back on a bargain. You committed crimes. You'll be tried for them."

Jack growled, adrenaline surging through his veins with a force that he hadn't felt for a very long time.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with…"

"A retired Time Agent?" those armoured shoulders shook with unashamed mirth. "With technology that no longer works? A man who was willing to bargain his freedom for a scrap of useless mechanics? You were desperate then. And you're desperate now."

He stepped forward, pushing his face as close to Jack's as possible.

"We will not let you go."

And then a bullet entered Jack's stomach, pushing him backwards into the cell and carrying him into death.

x

x

**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading!_

_Remember, reviews feed the muse and I love to hear your feedback. If you are reading, drop me a line to tell me what you think, as this fic derives inspiration from the comments I get from my reviewers. Thank you again! _**  
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	6. Chapter 5

_Thank you for all your reviews and support and understanding during my exams. This was written in the little spaces of time in between revision and exams, where I had to get out of the prison I build up in my own head in times of stress. As a result, this is perhaps the bleakest chapter so far. It is based entirely on mindsets and emotions, and I'm going to issue the warning that this is the most explicit reference to rape that there has been thus far in this fic. It is not an indepth description of the act, but it is blatant what is happening - if this is a trigger for anyone, please don't read. _

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 5**

x

x

When they took him from the ship, Jack fought.

He wasn't normally a fighter; at least not in the kicking-screaming-biting sense. He was more one for storing it up within his mind, following willingly where his captors led him, whilst inwardly smiling as he plotted his inevitable escape and revenge. That was something that they had been taught at the Time Agency, something he had retained for the rest of his life: _stay calm, devise a plan, get them back later_.

It was a philosophy that had never failed him in the past.

But Jack wasn't feeling in the mood for protocol right now.

It was like a trigger had been ignited in his brain. For the past one hundred and fifty years, Jack Harkness had been the one in control. Even in the years of flux, all those years acting as a hired mercenary for the dark creature that Torchwood had once been, his survival instinct had forced him to bury everything beneath the surface. It was something he had learnt from the Doctor – in those long, long years waiting and wondering and loving and hating, his memories of the Doctor's dignified composure had kept him sane. Even when the situation was dire, even with the memory of 900 years of losses hanging from his mind, the Doctor didn't break. Jack had admired that - it had been the basis on which he had built his immortal life.

But the Doctor hadn't been there when the 456 had descended onto the Earth. He hadn't been there when Jack had lost everything. Jack didn't feel inclined to follow his example anymore.

He lashed out with his arms and legs as the armoured soldiers gripped him beneath his armpits, hauling him away from the ship and towards a monstrous, covered colonnade buried beneath the sand dudes. Strong, inflexible arms curled around his limbs, one shoving a metal fist into his mouth to quieten his gnashing teeth. He felt the enamel splinter on the cold, solid surface, and the sudden pain sent a wave of fury and fear and grief sparking through him.

The burst sent his limbs uncurling like a spring had been released. The soldiers at his side flew away from him, bowled over by the sudden ferocity, and Jack found himself hurtling away into the scorching sand with no idea where he was going or what he was doing. He had no plan, no theories, no coherent thoughts left in his brain – all he knew was that he had to get away, he had to escape, if only to curl up on the sand and experience one long, painful death after another...

Suddenly, the strap on his wrist began to vibrate. He halted immediately, the sudden lack of movement sending him falling forward into the burning hot ground. Before his eyes could adjust to the agonising light reflecting from the sand beneath his body...before he could reach his wrist and frantically block the call from coming through...before he could steel himself for whatever the technology has in store...a crackly, bluish projection began to emerge from his wrist, cutting off all rational thought through from his mind...

x

x

_Ianto thought of Jack. _

_He knew it was wrong. He never wanted to associate that man with the pain, with the hurt, with all that helplessness and fear…_

_But he couldn't help it. _

_The dig of his captor's chin against his neck, so similar to the protrusion of Jack's own rubbing against his skin; the inflections and nuances filtering through in the grunts and hisses he could feel whistling past his ear. It was all so similar, yet so different. He remembered all those nights after Lisa had died, when the sex had been so rough, so unfeeling; pure, primal energy. If he closed his eyes and focused only on the sensations he could pretend that this was it, that this was the same... _

_On the floor of the Hub, of Jack's office, hands gripping and holding, his body feeling so full that it was on the verge of pain, but he didn't want it to stop, didn't want it to finish, because when Jack pulled away it meant that he was going to stop _feeling.

_That was how he got through the pain. And he hated himself for it, cradling his head in his bound arms as his captor pulled away, his whole body aching and sticky from that grubby touch. He didn't cry anymore; it was as if his eyes were dry, but his hands pressed tightly against his face, so tightly that his flesh began to hurt. He deserved it, though, for pretending that it had been _Jack_ who was inside him, _Jack _who was fucking him, when he knew that it wasn't, it was this psychopath, knowing that even at those times when Jack had held him down and fucked him into the floor, he'd always wanted it because it _wasn't the same as this…

_He never thought of Lisa when his assailant attacked him, never imagined that grip was her's because she'd been soft, gentle. Even when those manicured nails had dug into his back, his skin had never punctured because she just didn't have the strength. _

_But sometimes she and Jack melded together in his sleep. Jack's skin darkening beneath his touch, Lisa's soft voice curling into American twang; sometimes they were apart, one either side of him, holding and touching and feeling, and sometimes they were one person, curling around him and breathing separate breaths into his ear. _

_His dreams confused him, sending sparks of recognition and longing through his body, jolting him awake with a throbbing skull and a raging hard on. As much as he wanted to curl his hands downwards and wrap his bound hands around his cock, just to feel that release if only for a brief second, the tiny part of him still fighting told him that he didn't want to associate that with this environment – he didn't want to jerk himself off on this cold floor, in this shabby ship, floating in space and waiting for the madman to wake up and decide just what he wanted to do to him today. _

_He had enough humanity in him to ignore his erection, to wait until the cold of the ship and the icy fear of his mind had gotten rid of it by themselves. He had enough humanity to know that it wasn't Jack fucking him all those times on the rough floor, to know that the strange Jack-Lisa creature curling around him, sucking and fucking him in his sleep, was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. _

_But the cracks were widening, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold onto the crumbling edges before he fell. _

_He didn't want to let go. _

_Not yet. _

x

x

A part of him was yelling and screaming at him to look away, to keep himself composed, to close his eyes and block it out and just to _keep running away_. But that stupid part of him that, for some reason, just wanted to prove to himself that he wasn't going mad, that he had seen it right, that Ianto was _alive goddamit!_, drew his eyes towards the distorted image.

And then he was drowning in a sea of pale skin, crimson blood stark against the grubby, yet still wan flesh; an ocean of skin on skin, flesh that shouldn't be on flesh, metal cutting through nerves and tendons and knuckles tearing at hair…and then there was the sounds, the low moans even more frightening than the screams; that harsh, fearful exhalation of breath that signalled the body giving itself up, succumbing to death, and then the sharp, gurgled inhalation as it was dragged unwillingly back.

Jack closed his eyes then, but he couldn't banish the images from his eyelids, couldn't filter the desperate moans from ringing through his ears and drilling into his brain. Every part of him hurt, as if it was his body being violated and plundered, his skin being split messily by the blunt steel of a knife, his blood leaking from his punctured veins and spreading through his body, drowning him in his own fluids…

With the cries of that one man, Jack felt the weight of all his numerous lives pushing down on him like a dead weight, pressing him into the sand. He could feel golden granules choking him, swirling around his throat as he drew necessary, but not desperate, breaths. But the gravel scraping roughly against his throat was nothing compared to the agonising pain ripping through his head, and he clutched at his hair, driving the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and force it out of his brain.

He could deal with death. But this was something new, something he hadn't experienced before, something he'd never had to face – and, suddenly, he felt as though all the grief he had been holding within him, from all those pitiful, painful years of his existence, had burst through, filling him absolutely. He wasn't strong enough to hold it back, and he could feel it breaking against his skin, forcing its way through every pore of his body.

For the first time in a hundred and fifty years, Jack curled himself into a ball on the ground and let every single atom of grief within him pour out onto the sand, his whole body convulsing with choking, cacophonous sobs.

He didn't resist when they picked him up, didn't even raise his head as they dragged him, pliant and willing, back towards the covered colonnade.

x

x

_Maybe if he had, he would have noticed the small blue box appearing on the cusp of the horizon_…

x

x

**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading. _

_Please review to keep my inspired in the brain fuzz that has been known the follow the end of exams. _


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: Again, thank you for your support and understanding during my exams; they are now finished, so I am looking forward to dedicating as much time as possible to both of my multi-part fictions, as well as working on some one-shots, codas and interludes. This chapter features the return of the Doctor into Jack's life - there has been much discussion around me about which incarnation it will be, and there is a specific reason why I have chosen this particular Doctor, which will be elaborated on in my Author's Notes at the end of the chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support with this fiction, and I hope I continue to meet your expectations. _

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 6**

x

x**  
**

_Being in the foetal position was comforting. _

_Even on the cold floor, with the harsh, spiky fauna that may have been hay but may have been something completely different, Ianto found that drawing his knees up to his chest brought back some sense of security. The warmth that was brought when he curled his arms around his shins, tucking his head down into his chest, burrowing into the somewhat familiarity of his tattered shirt, was such a blessed thing in this environment. _

_It was something he'd done before. He'd remember curling up in his sheets, drowning himself in the harsh cotton and delighting in the warm darkness it had brought. Especially on those occasions when the back of his legs and shoulders were smarting with raised, red welts, and he could feel the pain and anger and disappointment and confusion bubbling in his chest… _

_He'd pretend that he was something other than what he was, cocooning himself away, hibernating until his time would come and he would free. _

_Sometimes his sister would come in; she annoyed him most of the time, but when she heard the _snappa-snappa-snappa_ of the belt from the privacy of her room she would always make the effort, and at these times he really didn't mind. She wouldn't come under the covers, but she would wrap her arms around the bundle in the centre of the bed, stroking the tuft of hair poking out onto the pillow. He liked that._

_When he closed his eyes, even here and now, on this cold ship, with the madman just around the corner, he could sometimes imagine her tiny, shivering fingers pushing through his hair, the gentle touch on his scalp soothing and steadying his racing heartbeat. _

_Her's and Lisa's touch had been so very similar to one another; they were soft, reassuring, their slim arms covering him like a tiny, cotton blanket. They made him feel loved, and all he had wanted to do was make them happy, as they did with him. _

_Jack's touch had been different – it had been solid, strong, encasing him in a hard circle of warmth. . _

_He flinched ever so slightly at that memory, curling further in to try and block out the feel of the strong arms wrapped around him. It was easier to think of his sister and his fiancée, because there was nothing they could do – he'd accepted that he would never see them again. Jack was different, in every way, as he so often was. The hope was more painful than the certainty. He didn't think that Jack would find him; he understood the immortal man more than the man himself gave him credit for, and he knew that the only reason Jack would have run away would have been to forget, completely and utterly. _

_He wouldn't want to be reminded. _

_Ianto fully expected him to turn away and keep running, and he didn't begrudge him that – even in dying, all he'd wanted was for Jack to remember him, but he'd never wanted him to waste his life. He wanted him to __**live**__, for fuck's sake – even if there was a tiny petulant part of him that wanted Jack to grieve, the larger, pragmatic part of him wanted him to go on living and loving and fighting. _

_But there was always that hope that Jack would be chasing around the universe after him, the slim chance that he meant enough to incite that level of loyalty. As much as he tried to suppress it, there was a desperate longing within him to be found, to be the focus of Jack's passion once again. His brain, however, knew that that wasn't true, and the conflict between the hope and the pragmatism was more painful than the pain that his captor inflicted every day. The cuts on his body would heal, the throbbing pain in his head would subside, at least blocked out by sleep, but that hope ate away at him every single day. _

_He didn't want to hope anymore. _

_It just hurt too much. _

x

x

"Ouch!"

The small, ginger woman tumbled backwards, her fingers grasping uselessly at the railing before she finally lost her balance, landing heavily on something protruding from the floor. She winced, bracing herself against the harsh movements and trying to ignore the uncomfortable poking sensation. As the vibrations subsided, she breathed out and forced herself up onto her elbows, only to be pulled back down as someone stumbled and fell on top of her, forcing her back onto the offending object.

"Rory!"

"Sorry!"

Rory scrambled away from her, holding out his hand to help her up. Amy rolled her eyes, grinning fondly before taking hold of the fingers and hauling herself up, rubbing the small of her back where one of the many miscellaneous "pointy things" had dug into her spine. She'd long ago given up trying to work out what every lever did, instead just accepting that the Doctor knew what he was doing (even though she was convinced that even he had no idea what some of the annoying protrusions were actually there for).

"We're here!"

Speak of the devil.

"Where?" she shot him a glare, exaggerating the rubbing movements on her back accusingly. He grinned madly, his bow tie slightly askew and his hair falling floppily out of place.

"Here!"

"Helpful," she sighed, moving forward to brush herself up against his fiancé's arm, abandoning her attempts at getting the Doctor to notice her injury. To be fair, it wasn't actually that bad, but it would have felt good to make him feel guilty. It was his fault, after all; even after River Song's revelations, he still seemed to love the creaking noise too much to actually take the brakes _off_ before landing.

"Honestly," Rory's voice didn't hold the same teasing tone that Amy's did, and she suppressed a smile at the lift in testosterone levels in the room. "Where are we, Doctor?"

"The Beaches of Algorn," the Doctor grinned madly, oblivious to both Amy's guilt-trip and the accusing tone of Rory's voice. "One of the best holiday spots this side of the universe. Second only to Barcelona in the 2010 Galactorial Standards Agency Rankings."

Rory shot him a sceptical look.

"You're telling me that _Spain_ tops a list of beaches in the universe?"

"No, of course not, don't be stupid," the Doctor adjusted his bow tie, aiming a pitying look in the direction of the human male, who was now looking decidedly abashed and offended.

"Now," his hands clapped together enthusiastically. "Who's up for a bit of a sunbathing?"

Before they could answer, he'd bounded off to the door of the Tardis, wrenching it open with the enthusiasm of a five year old and disappearing into the haze of light which filtered its way through. Amy turned to her fiancé, running her hand down his arm to lace their fingers together, giggling ever so slightly as he lowered his eyes to stare at their joined hands.

"Come on then, lover boy," she teased as she pulled them both forward slightly, feeling little resistance on his part. "I believe skinny dipping is just around the corner…"

His face spread into a grin, squeezing her hand tightly before stepping forward to stand by her side. Amy suppressed another laugh, beaming widely as they headed out through the door of the space ship, closing it firmly behind them…

…only to walk slap bang into the stationary back of the Doctor.

"Doctor…what…?"

The Scottish woman stopped abruptly, her voice cut off by the sound of guns being cocked. Rory's hand tightened around hers, only this time there was nothing romantic or affectionate about it – she could feel the shiver of fear running through him, and the protective tightening of his fingers around her own. It was a futile gesture, but she returned it, unwilling to take her eyes off the guns now being aimed squarely in their direction.

The Doctor turned slightly, his arms raised to his head in a gesture that the two humans quickly copied, eager to cause as little trouble as possible (at least, until they had a secure plan, that is). He grinned shyly, his eyes sparkling with the same look Amy had seen so many times since she had run away with him – the look of a naughty child who had just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

"Well…" he shrugged, licking his lips nervously. "It's still sand…"

x

x

_Sometimes he felt like he deserved it. _

_The madman never said it, of course, but that just reinforced the idea in his mind. If his captor had openly stated that it was his fault, then he'd have railed against it, fought back, just like he had always done. At home, as a kid, feeling the whip of a belt against his back and hearing those harsh, accusing words in his ears, he'd fought it. Everything in him had told him that this wasn't fair, that he didn't deserve it, that one day he was going to get him back for treating him like this. _

_But here, in this environment, with only his own thoughts to keep him company, he persuaded himself that this was his fault, and that he deserved it. _

_Why else was this happening to him? _

_He'd tried to be a hero, encouraged Jack to stand up to the 456, and the result had been his death, had been Jack's death, and then…_

_His assailant had told him what had happened after he had died. At first, he'd refused to believe it, but deep down he knew that Jack would have done whatever it took to save the children; it was Jack through and through. _

_And now he knew that it was his fault. _

_Perhaps if he'd been more patient, not pushed Jack, perhaps then there would have been another way; perhaps they'd have stuck together and worked it out, found another solution. But they hadn't. They'd walked in, fuelled only by their anger and impatience, and Ianto had condemned Jack to be alone again – in the long run, he'd probably had it easier, not surviving to see the bloodbath. _

_And this was his punishment for that – he didn't deserve to stay dead. _

_It was all his fault, and this was his punishment. _

_Something caught in his throat, and he moved his hands to rest against his face, rubbing his dirtied thumb against the corner of his eyes. It was wet, he could feel it, and he let out a choked sob, shaking his head as he realised that he __**didn't deserve to be crying**__.. _

_He wanted to find Jack, to tell him that he was sorry, that he didn't mean to cause all this pain and heartache, but he knew that was never going to happen. Jack was never going to know that he was sorry, and maybe Jack would hate him forever for what he'd done. It would be better if Jack just forgot about him, consigned him to history, found someone who would truly understand him and who wouldn't hurt him. _

_He hurt everybody he ever touched. His Mum, his Dad, Rhi, Lisa, Tosh, Owen…Jack…he could never do enough… _

_He flinched inwardly as he heard footsteps approaching the tiny room that he'd been confined to, the leather ropes at his wrists chafing against his skin as he pulled away too harshly. His breath caught in his throat as he wiped hurriedly at his eyes, pushing away the tears from his cheeks and swallowing hard, trying to subside the quivering of his breath. _

_He wasn't going to be scared. He wasn't going to fight anymore. _

_This was his punishment, after all._

_x_

_x_

**TBC...**

_

* * *

_

_A/N: I have chosen the Eleventh Doctor for a few reasons. I adore Mattt Smith's incarnation, and really enjoy writing for him - I also love the relationship between Amy and Rory, and really wanted to shine some more light onto that (this is obviously set before Episodes 8 and 9 of Series 5: "The Hungry Earth" and "Cold Blood"). My main reason, however, is that this story is set before the events of "End of Time" in Jack's timeline, and I do want to address that particular scene. I have found that, when canon disappoints me, the best way of fixing it is not to ignore it entirely, but to stick to the canon and modify it to bring it to a more favourable conclusion. Therefore, Jack's encounters in "End of Time" will indeed be taking place, but in the contexts of this plotline. If anyone can give me the specifics of that scene, the words, the actions etc. (I couldn't bear to watch it, unfortunately, and therefore I do not know the specifics), then I would be eternally grateful. _

_Thank you once again for your continued support. A big shout to all my reviewers and my lurkers. Please review to keep the bunnies biting - your comments and support are what keep this story floating._


	8. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thank you so much for all our kind comments, and your continued support. I know that I said that now my exams are over I'd have more time, but I conveniently forgot that I had my Grade 8 in Musical Theatre on Saturday (now over, thankfully!) which is very important as the performing arts is my chosen career path. And I should have expected that my boss would jump on the oppurtunity to give me more shifts. Also this is a longer chapter than any I have written so far - this is the chapter where "stuff happens". So thank you for your continued support, and I shall try my level best to update whenever I have a free moment_. _I am so happy that you aprove of my choice of Doctor, and I am also ecstatic that you think I am getting these wonderful characters right. You don't have to have seen the 5th Series for this to make sense, as this is Torchwood's story, but a basic knowledge (i.e. this is the Doctor, Amy is his companion and Rory is her fiance) would help. _

_Thank you once again for you support, and I hope I continue to meet your expectations!  
_

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 7**

x

x

"Ah, yes, well, you see…" the Doctor lowered a hand to rummage in his pocket, only to raise it again immediately when one of the soldiers stepped forward, gun pointed determinedly at the centre of his forehead. Amy stayed as close to Rory as she could, nudging his elbow with her own raised arm; she couldn't work out whether it was to reassure him or herself, but his answering glance told her that that didn't really matter.

"Identify yourself," came the harsh bark of the lead soldier, the bright sun (or should that be "suns") refracting from the ornate colouring of his armour spectacularly. The Doctor blinked in the face of the light, his eyes squinting unattractively.

"Oh no, I was just about to…" he smiled, lowering his hand again, slowly moving towards his pocket. The gun cocked once more, this time nudging against his temple, forcing him to bring his arms back up to a submissive position. The Doctor quickly complied, rolling his eyes.

"Look, I was just trying to…"

"Identify yourself."

"I need to get out my identification," the Doctor wiggled his chin towards his pocket, straining to keep his arms raised. "I can't get it if you…"

"Retrieve it."

Sighing deeply, the Doctor began to rummage in the depths of his cavernous pockets, keeping one eye focused on the gun-muzzle hovering just above his eyes. Amy closed her eyes briefly, willing him not to act on the annoyed fire she could see burning in his eyes at the proximity of the weapon – he hated guns, she knew that, but she preferred that they stayed alive rather than gaining the moral high ground.

Eventually, he pulled out the wedge of paper from his coat, thankfully repressing the urge to comment on the extortionate use of guns. The armoured creature snatched it from him roughly, gripping it so that it hovered just beyond the slit in its metal mask. The Doctor sniffed, bringing up his free hand to grasp the other, which was still raised.

"No such thing as a nice _thank you_ this side of the universe," Amy and Rory heard him mutter darkly, not loudly enough to puncture the confines of the creature's armour. A nervous smile spread across Rory's face, his whole body trembling slightly as he struggled to suppress the laugh that was running through him. Amy glared, swinging her hips to catch him off guard, knocking into his side and pushing the laughter away.

After what seemed like an age, the creature nodded, handing the paper back to the Doctor with a degree of sudden respect that had not been there before. The Doctor smiled as he took it, lowering his hands to tuck the psychic paper back into the pocket, his smile spreading to a grin as the soldier dropped his gun to his side and bowed his head.

"Apologies, sir."

"I should say so," the Doctor hooked his arms behind his back and rocked forward onto his toes.

"You are not similar to the sort that the Proclamation usually sends, sir."

"Yes, well, they're a fickle bunch the Proclamation…always changing their minds," he smiled, turning to face his companions. "These are my assistants…er…Lieutenants Williams and Pond."

The creature bowed again as Amy and Rory lowered their hands, both simultaneously straightening their backs in an attempt to try and meet the character profile that the Doctor had set them. The armoured soldier raised his head once more, gesturing for his men to step back to allow the visitors some space.

"If you would follow me, sirs and…madam…" he paused slightly as his eyes scanned Amy's slight figure, his brow obviously crumpling beneath his helmet. The ginger woman shot him a fierce glare, and he pulled back, averting her gaze.

"Yes…if you would follow me, I will take you to the colonnade. The cells are located beyond that."

The Doctor spun around, his jaw tightening suddenly.

"Cells?"

"Yes sir…your identification stated that you are here to inspect our prisoners…"

"Right…yes…of course…" he scraped a hand through his tearaway hair briefly. "Lead on…er…MacDuff…"

x

x

_They were nanogenes. _

_That was something he had found out right at the beginning. But that didn't mean that he understood what they were. _

_They'd become a constant presence in Ianto's life, seeming to hover around him at all times, now even after the madman had finished taking him to brink of death and back again. They seemed to cover him in his dreams, whistling past his ears as he huddled for some semblance of warmth on the cold floor. At the beginning, they had arrived when conjured by the evil wizard, appearing upon his command and retreating when his need for them had been completed. _

_Things had changed._

_Ianto hauled himself into a sitting position, a difficult task with his rejuvenated muscles screaming at him in pain, and with his hands bound together in front of him and chained to a hook in the side of the wall. Resting his back against the jagged wall, he let out a quick breath, silently cursing the strange, ethereal beings that seemed unwilling to just let him __**die**__in __**peace**__. _

_To him, they had always been the accomplices, the ones who built upon the pain already inflicted by his insane captor and doubling it to beyond the limits of Ianto's endurance. It was not beyond him to endure pain, but it was beyond him to feel himself hung over the cliff of death, to feel his arms wrenched from their sockets as he fell, only to be caught in agonisingly sharp talons, hell-bent on dragging him back to life. Coming back was like being snatched at by a gigantic eagle and dropped onto cold stone, each healing more painful than the last. _

_It would be easier to die. _

_But he felt strangely comforted by the glowing presence as they floated around him, resting at his bound hands. He winced as the leather straps chafed uncomfortably at his already tender flesh, the skin stripping away against the tightness of the strap. He tried to put it to the back of his mind, as he had done all those years ago as a child; knowing that it was his fault, really…he'd realised that, accepted it…but that didn't stop it hurting. _

_Suddenly, the lights seemed to swarm around his wrists, attracted, it seemed, by the tiny droplets of blood gathering at the edges of the leather and dripping onto his knees. He tried to pull away, but he couldn't, not quite – they continued to swarm, and a sharp pain suddenly stung his wrists as they pulled his skin forcibly back together, re-knitting and remaking. It was crude, like medieval medicine, but it seemed to work – his skin still smarted, but he could feel the innate pain of the chafing ebbing away with each heartbeat. _

_He relaxed against the wall of the ship, breathing in a sigh of relief and wriggling his hands, delighting in the unblemished skin – it had been a long time since the skin of his wrists had felt so free, despite the leather still clinging around his flesh. _

_For the first time since he had been pulled from oblivion into this strange, new hell, he was grateful that the strange, glowing creatures were here. _

x

x

"Assistant?"

"Sorry?"

"You said we were your…_assistants_," Amy put her hands on her hips as she walked, her displeasure towering over the Doctor, even when she herself was held back by her small frame. "You…feeling like you want to take that back?"

"Erm…yes?"

"Good."

Smiling broadly, Amy turned her attention to the great shape looming in front of them, the tented entrance rearing up from the sand like a mystical cave. The pure _alienness _of it sent a short thrill through her spine as she drank in the sight; she could feel the same enthrallment reverberating from Rory as they stopped side by side before it, gazing upwards at the vast structure. The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking backwards onto his heels as he waited – not quite patiently – for them to finish being human and follow him in.

"Wow," Rory licked his lips as he spoke, eyes wide. "That's…impressive…"

"It's beautiful…"

"Yes, we know, it's a huge tent, now hurry up before MacDuff here leaves us behind," The Doctor made a wild hand gesture, a sound suspiciously like a bored _huff_ escaping his lips as he strode forward into the tent, leaving the humans to scurry in his wake.

The pace was so fast that Amy and Rory barely had time to take in their surroundings, but even as they hurried after the armoured soldier and the raggedy haired alien man, they caught glimpses of the complex city that wove intricately through the inside of the tent. Unlike outside, not all of the inhabitants were clothed in the fiery armour; their free skin was a light, tinged blue, the swirling green eyes like tiny islands in the sea of their skin. As this whole new world sunk into her field of vision, Amy reached out and squeezed Rory's hand affectionately, feeling him reciprocate, knowing that he felt it too.

This was something so unlike anything they had ever hoped to experience in their lives. And they were experiencing it together – which just made it twice as good, in Amy's mind and undoubtedly in Rory's as well

"The cells are this way, sirs."

The cold voice of the soldier broke through their reverie, and they realised that they had reached a small, glass pod which seemed to rest halfway into the ground. Amy frowned as she saw it, stopping in her tracks just in front of the strange orb.

"Doctor…what is this..?"

"It's a Rhyfelian Descension Pod, kind of like your lifts, only it employs anti-gravity boosters to hover gently downwards," the Doctor tapped his knuckles against the glass, peering into the depths of the Pod. "Safer, actually, than your traditional 21st century pulley-operated lifts. By a long shot. Never, _ever_ using one of those again, not after that incident with the rabbit…now, where were we, what were we doing?"

"To the cells, sir?"

"Yes, yes, that was it…now, lead on Mac…"

"Oh, enough with the Shakespeare references already," Amy rolled her eyes, pushing past the Doctor and stepping into the Pod. Frowning deeply, the Time Lord bit his lips and stepped in after her, his hands in his pockets and his back tensed sheepishly.

"Ermm…sorry for asking but…how did you know it was..?"

"It's Macbeth, Doctor," Amy yanked on Rory's arm, forcing him through the glass entrance. "And I'm Scottish. You do the maths."

x

x

Jack sat on the floor of his cell, his arms clenched around his legs and his hands fisting into the loose-fitting material of his slacks.

He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed since they had dragged him back here. His vortex manipulator had long since lost the ability to tell the time, and, even if it was still possible to count the passing seconds, he had no real inclination to do so. Time was of no real meaning to him – he was an immortal time traveller, after all. The gentle ticking of the clock hand was a useless instrument, only serving as a tired metronome to keep steady the bored rhythm of his life.

His eyes were dry now – he had gotten rid of the all the pent up emotion that he had been carrying around with him for so long, and now there was just a weary numbness floating below the surface. He could still feel the ache, that gentle nudging that had been there for a very long time. It was a feeling he was used to, one that he had long pushed aside, perfecting the technique of blocking it from his mind.

The only difference now was that he couldn't quite remember how to suppress it.

Or maybe he just didn't want to repress it anymore.

For long months he had travelled the universe, fucking and fighting and working and trying desperately to block out everything. He could feel a small twinge of guilt running through him as he thought of all that time, distant words and quiet promises flitting through his mind. It was the only thing that Ianto had asked of him – he hadn't wanted big promises of love, or devotion, he hadn't wanted Jack to grieve and hurt and hold onto his memory for all eternity.

All he had asked for was a tiny slot in his memory, if only to be one of those anecdotes that Jack imparted so often.

But he never had been. Jack had promised to remember, and the very first thing he had done was try his level best to forget.

Jack buried his face in his hands, scraping his fingers painfully through his hair. It had been so much _easier_ to deal with everything when it had been final, unchangeable, when there had been nothing he could do but run away and try to carry on. But how could he do that knowing that the man he had let down was alive – not just alive but _waiting_ for him to rescue him?

It was his fault.

He was the one who hadn't made sure that Ianto got out at the beginning – perhaps then he wouldn't have followed him so willingly into the stupid situation that had killed him. If he had just been straight with him from the beginning, perhaps if he had pushed him away rather than selfishly seeking some sort of comfort following that year with the Master, then Ianto wouldn't be dead. Perhaps if he had done the right thing, rather than being fuelled by his selfish desires to keep his brother alive rather than ridding the world of the threat he posed, then Ianto might have _stayed_ dead – dead but _safe_.

It was his fault.

It always had been his fault. He hurt everyone who was close to him. Which is why he had settled back into his old persona: that "bastard" character that he had played so convincingly for so long, if only to protect himself and pretend that the tired, lonely actor behind it did not actually exist.

But there was only so long he could keep it up before something knocked the mask from his face. And now the mask was well and truly on the floor, lost amongst the sand dunes of this hot and unforgiving planet. Even if he wanted it back, he had no idea where to start looking for it.

All he wanted to do was burrow away, following in the direction that his mask had fallen. So, when he heard raised voices outside the door of his cell, he had no inclination to look up and see who it was.

x

x

Amy watched as the Doctor's eyes widened, boring deeply into the cell before them.

They had seen many cells, many pathetic, piteous creatures locked beyond the unforgiving metal bars. She had felt a lump rising in her throat, growing tighter with each passing moment; the wonder of this alien world was buried beneath the cruelty that she was witnessing. How could such pain and degradation exist beneath such a vibrant, beautiful community?

It was a paradox; one she had begun to realise was inescapable. Beauty could not exist without an undercurrent of ugly.

This, however, was different.

There was nothing spectacular about the man in the cell. He was dressed in what she would think of as traditional clothing of the Second World War – blue shirt, slightly dirtied brown slacks, braces, with a deep blue RAF coat flung over the raggedy wooden bunch in the corner. He looked as pathetic as the rest, curled on the floor with his head buried in his hands, but his situation seemed to be the lightest of the creatures they had seen. In fact, Amy would wager that he had only recently been transferred here, as his figure hardly resembled the ragged state of the other prisoners.

And yet pain and heartache flickered over the Doctor's misplaced features, the youth of his face and the wisdom in his eyes clashing together in a way that she hadn't quite seen before.

It was obvious that there was something about this man. Something that she couldn't quite see.

"What's his crime?"

The Doctor's voice was harsh, filling the darkened building with a tone that she hadn't heard for a long time.

"He strayed into the territory of this army, sir," the soldier's shoulders tensed abruptly, sensing the ire in the Doctor's voice; that tense, quivering anger that hadn't been there only a few moments before, even through his fury at the sights they had been faced with.

"He brought offensive weaponry onto my ship, which goes against the Basic Treatise of Deep Space. As a representative of the Shadow Proclamation itself, sir, you will obviously have no objection to us holding this prisoner here until we can take him to trial."

"You should redirect him to the Proclamation, of he broke one of their – our – rules."

"The law was broken on our territory. This army does no relinquish control of its prisoners."

"No, you just torture them," The Doctor pressed his hands against the bars, drinking in the sight of the pathetic man on the floor. Amy could feel the sadness rolling from him, and she moved towards him, reaching out a hand to rest on his back gently. He inclined his head ever so slightly, smiling tightly before pushing her back towards her fiancé, squaring up to soldier in front of him.

"Why are you really holding him here?"

"I'm sorry sir?"

"The real reason. Don't play naïve with me, you're a Rhyfelian, one of the greatest armies in the universe – the great tacticians, clever yet ruthless. The majority of prisoners here are hostages, for your own gain. If you encountered a single man with an offensive weapon, you would kill him on sight. Direct punishment. So why is he here?"

The soldier's arms tensed, his hand flicking ever so minutely towards the weapon at his belt. Amy felt an arm slip around her waist as the atmosphere grew tense – Rory's hand squeezed minutely at her hip as she shivered, feeling the crackling sensation that seemed to filter through the darkness. Not that she would ever admit it, but she was amazingly grateful that she was here with him, through the good and the bad.

"You need him for something. He's useful to you. And I bet I know why…"

"Sir…"

"And that _is_ against the Shadow Proclamation."

"I'll warn you…"

"Experimentation on a sentient being, unwarranted imprisonment…oh, you just wait."

"You will report us to the Proclamation, sir?" there was a mocking tone lingering in the soldier's tone, his hand creeping not-so-subtly towards his weapon. The threat was stark, and Amy could hear the sound of advancing boots nearing them.

"Oh no, you just wait…because the Proclamation has nothing on me…"

Amy backed into Rory as the soldiers encircled them, weapons at the ready, threat and hostility gleaming through the emerald swirls of their eyes. She gripped his hand tightly, refusing to let go and feeling him shaking against her. Glee shot through the glare of the leading soldier, his back straightened with defiance, all pretence at submission and civility drained away from his metal-plated body.

"You threaten us, sir. We can only act accordingly, and in our own defence."

Guns cocked, aimed towards them, forcing them backwards. The Doctor stood in front of his human companions, shielding them from any direct impact; even his scrawny frame seemed imposing and threatening, stretching out like a shield to cover them. Amy knew that she would definitely be complaining about this later, but, for now, she was grateful for it.

"You will be kept in the cells. Or you will be disposed of."

The soldiers stepped forward, nudging them towards the empty cell beside them. As Amy stepped backwards, she cast one final glance at the man in the cell; the man who had sent the Doctor into a frenzy, the man who had broken something in the Doctor's veneer, and caused him to put it himself and his companions in stark danger.

And he looked back.

x

x

**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading!_

_Please review. Your comments always inspire me, and your thoughts really do help me to bring these characters alive. _


	9. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews and comments! You continue to blow me away with your suport for this fiction; when I first conceived it, it was only to prove to myself that Ianto could be brought back in a way that more dramatic and exciting than leaving him dead. I never expected the response to be so phenomenal to it, and I cannot thank you enough. This chapter was a) meant to be written sooner and b) meant to be a lot shorter_, _but I underestimated how much the Eleventh Doctor likes to** talk**!_

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 8**

x

x**  
**

The Doctor was pacing up and down, the tweed of his jacket rustling against his legs as he tapped the end of his sonic screwdriver against his forehead. Rory had grown to recognise that as a sign that he was thinking furiously, some sort of plan taking root in his mind and curling into branches that would eventually help them to escape. But, as the tapping became more violent against the Doctor's temple, Rory began to grow increasingly worried.

He cleared his throat, nervously.

"Doctor. What do we do?"

The Doctor turned at that, taking in the sight of his two companions huddled together on the wooden bench, his fingers tapping distractedly over the metal implement in his hand.

"You sit, you be quiet, and I come up with a plan," he raised a hand to his lips before returning to his pacing.

Amy stiffened against Rory's side, a shiver of annoyance running through her.

"Are you planning on telling us who that man is?" she hissed suddenly, drawing her knees to her chest defensively. "Or were you just planning to leave us in the dark until the last minute?"

"As usual," Rory added.

The Doctor spun on his heel, his face tight.

"He's…he's just…someone I used to know."

"Someone?"

"A friend?"

"He was more of a…ah…associate-type-acquaintance-type…thing…"

Both Amy and Rory gave him blank, irritated looks. He sighed deeply, thrusting his hands into his pocket and rocking backwards on his heels distractedly. Eventually, he realised that there was very little that was going to dissuade them, and he threw his hands into the air, a defeated huff escaping from his lips.

"He used to travel with me. There, now can I get back to planning?"

Amy stood up suddenly, squaring up to him as best she could.

"It's more than that, isn't it?"

He blinked.

"What do you...?"

"I saw your eyes, Doctor. It was hard to miss. You don't do that for just anyone."

Rory joined her.

"It was obvious."

"Oi! I'm never obvious!"

"Doctor…" Amy's voice carried a warning tone, her fingers coming up to brush along the sleeve of his coat, just catching the skin of his wrist as they travelled up and down. The Doctor looked down, seemingly transfixed by the movements of her hand as he swallowed hard, his hair falling over his brow like a veil.

"He was a friend. He travelled with me. He fought with me."

Amy nodded, hearing the slight hitch in his breath as he spoke. She could feel Rory standing beside her, keeping just enough distance to give them the space they needed whilst retaining his place in the conversation. She smiled briefly, biting her lip and casting him an affectionate glance as she waited for the Doctor to finish.

"Something happened to him," the Doctor raised his head, his eyes seeming to crinkle beneath the weight of ages; it created such a contrast to his face that Amy had to bite back a gasp. "Something happened and I didn't help him. I left him. Abandoned him. And now he's here and…"

"You think it's your fault?"

The Doctor nodded, sucking in a breath and running a hand through his hair.

"You think he blames you?"

"No. That's the problem."

Rory frowned.

"I don't…"

"He should," the Doctor's eyes grew dark as he flicked them briefly to meet Rory's gaze. "He should blame me. But I'm not sure he will. He'll blame himself, and that will destroy him, slowly, from the inside out. Guilt does that, trust me."

He tried for a smile, quickly discarding it as he saw the looks his companions were giving him.

"So we need to get out of here, we need to get _him_ out of here, and then I need to fix it. It's the least I can do. I'm a different person now, figuratively _and_ literally, and I'm not making the same mistakes again."

Springing away from the couple suddenly, he ran his screwdriver surreptitiously over the bars of the cell, dragging it meticulously along the metal pillars before hovering it over the lock that was attached firmly to the side. His brow furrowed briefly as the tip of the implement glowed, quickly snatching it away and burrowing it deep into his pocket before the guard stationed at their cell could notice that anything had taken place. As promptly as he had left, he leapt back, positioning himself in between Amy and Rory.

"The lock doesn't have a deadlock seal," he whispered, the low tone of his voice encouraging the two humans to lean in conspiratorially. "Which means we could, in theory, get out in a jiffy."

Rory breathed out, the exhalation singing with his relief.

"Well, that's good…"

He turned, the silence of the other two people in the room suddenly striking him.

"Isn't it?"

"The guard," Amy whispered, motioning with her head. "We could get out, but we'd get shot."

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly. Brilliant, in fact. I always knew you served some purpose here, Miss Pond…"

"Oi!"

"But no time for chit chat," he grinned, moving away briskly from the slap that she aimed in his direction. "I need all the children to sit down, shut up, and try and think of a way to solve the problem. Go. Vamoosh. Quickly now."

Grinning from ear to ear, a beaming smile that did not quite reach his eyes, he watched as his companions settled themselves huffily on the bench. The he returned to his pacing.

x

x

_Ianto could hear them now, buzzing calmly around his head as he buried his face in his arms. Even through his closed eyes, squeezed shut against the ripped material of his shirt, he could see their imprints dancing across the lids. It was though they were flowing through his veins, nudging him and singing to him, doing their level best to keep him awake and _here.

_With a great effort, he raised his head, lowering his arms to wrap around his knees instead. He could see them clearly now, a collected group of golden, glowing embers hovering around him, the gentle vibrations they emitted flowing through the air with a gentle hum. He smiled slightly, letting them brush softly against his face, the feeling warming as they touched the raised crimson mark along his cheek. _

_If he was in a different situation, he would probably have questioned the logistics regarding that particular scar. He'd had it for some time now, after all, and yet it hadn't seemed to dissipate. As the nanogenes had brought him back to life, they had obviously eradicated the virus from his system, reinvigorating the cells which had been eaten away by the alien sickness that had rattled through him. They had healed him, stitched him back together, and yet this scar remained. _

_He reached out gently, running his fingers through the glowing mass to reach the scar on his cheek. It no longer ached, no longer felt like a separate entity to his body – it was almost as if the scab had become his own skin, moulding and reshaping itself until it had become an indelible part of him. _

"_Strange," he whispered, his voice croaking with the effort of speech, the tip of his finger still running gently over the scab. The nanogenes seemed to catch the scratchy tone of his voice, immediately flitting to hover just below his throat. A sudden sharp pain shot through his windpipe and he reached up to clutch at his flesh, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the shining invaders. The tiny beings slipped in between his fingers, like water slithering through his grasp, continue to buzz around and within his tired throat. _

_Eventually, however, the pain began to subside. Ianto leant back against the wall, breathing heavily, delighting suddenly in the realisation that the breaths no longer scraped along the flesh of his windpipe. A smile crept onto his face once again as the nanogenes began to hover in front of him, his bound hands raising to his face to brush ever so gently into the centre of the mass. _

"_Thank you," he whispered, the true level of his voice and lilt of his accent cutting through his vocal cords as they had not done for a very long time. He grinned at that, clearing his throat and trying again. _

"_Thank you very much." _

_A ringing laugh shot through the air as he recognised his own voice. _

_Fuck, it felt so good! _

"_Fuck, it feels good!" _

"_What does?" _

_The sing-song voice appeared, a shadow blocking the dim light that filtered through the doorway of the room that now made up Ianto's home. Ianto turned abruptly, his hands coming up to his face as footsteps approached, the leather shoes creaking against the cold stone of the floor. Hands suddenly grasped at his wrists, wrenching them forward, away from his face. _

"_What feels good, Ianto Jones?" _

"_N-Nothing…" _

"_You have your voice!" a grin spread across his captor's face, fingers cupping his cheek to raise his chin towards him. "I missed your voice. Missed the noises it makes, all those words and sounds…it's not nearly as much fun when you just sound like a wounded animal." _

_As his assailant drew closer, Ianto decided that he hated the nanogenes for giving him his voice back. _

_It was so much easier to be an animal. _

x

x

"Rory?"

"Nothing."

"Amy?"

"Well, the guard does look male, so I thought…"

A dark look from Rory.

"I mean…nothing."

"Doctor?" the Doctor tapped himself on the forehead with his screwdriver. "Oh look…nothing."

"So," Rory stretched out his hands, shrugging his shoulders. "What do we do?"

"Weeeeeell…" the Doctor stretched out the vowel as long as he could, obviously hoping that inspiration would come to him whilst he spoke. Eventually, though, he ran out of breath, opting for sealing his lips and burrowing his hands in his pockets sheepishly. Amy and Rory stared at him for a brief second before slumping back on the bench, their heads simultaneously cracking against the stone wall with a sickening _crunch_.

"Excuse me?"

They all turned abruptly, the voice shooting through their consciousness.

"You are…a doctor?"

"Well…I am THE Doctor, but we'll let that pass."

"Yes, sir," the armoured soldier bowed his head, his fingers stowing his weapon away in its holster and turning it away from the humans in the cell. "I…overheard your conversation."

The Doctor bristled.

"Yes, well, I never did like an eavesdropper…hang on…" he cocked his head curiously. "If you overheard…why are we not dead?"

"Don't question it, I like that we're not dead," Rory hissed, silenced by Amy's elbow in his stomach.

"Sir…I…I'd like to offer my assistance."

"You would?" the Doctor stepped forward, his eyes brightening and the sides of his face crinkling jovially as he smiled. "But how…why…?"

"I spoke with your neighbour on the transportation ship," the masked head nodded towards the cell beside them. "You knew him, I could sense it."

The smile fell from the Doctor's face.

"Yes…I know him."

"He does not deserve to be here. My generals, they want him for what he may give us, for the insight he may bring. He assures that he can't offer them that…I believe him, but my generals will not," a gulping sound was heard from within the mask. "He is a good man. I can feel it. If I help you, you will help him?"

"We will help him, yes," the Doctor took another step forward, pressing against the bars. "We will help him to get free; we'll take him away from this."

"Will you help him find who he is looking for?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, casting a quick glance towards his companions before flicking his eyes back to the armoured soldier.

"Yes," he answered, deciding that questions could be asked later. "Yes, we'll do that."

The flamboyant metal glowed in the low light as the soldier turned his head from side to side, his eyes flicking beneath the steel slit as he gauged whether any threats surrounded them. Seemingly convinced that they were clear, he turned back, his eyes blazing urgently and eagerly.

"Sir…"

"Please…call me Doctor. I hate it when people call me _sir_."

"Doctor…I cannot help you directly out of the cell. This regime – it is good to its people, but it is harsh. We are well treated, but my family resides in the colonnade. I cannot risk them being in danger, sir, it is too high a price for me to pay."

"We understand," Amy took a step forward, smiling reassuringly at the strange, armoured being who had suddenly become their most precious ally. "We can get out ourselves; all we need is for you to turn a blind eye."

"You have the technology to free yourself?"

"Yes…" the Doctor reached into his pocket, retrieving his sonic screwdriver. "This opens all locks." He tapped it thoughtfully against his mouth, his eyebrows creasing together as an idea seemed to come together in his mind.

"Your species does not have sonic technology; at least not yet, that much I know. Your superiors won't know that it can't be used as a weapon – if we have technology that can open a Triple-Way Rhyfelian Lock, then they won't doubt that we also have the technology to subdue you. That's it. You were completely innocent, overcome by our superior technology. The perfect cover-up."

The Doctor glanced up and down, gauging the Rhyfelian's reaction. He seemed to consider for a few moments, before nodding brusquely.

"Yes, sir…I mean, Doctor…I shall let you escape and the blame shall fall on you. That way, I may face some sort of repercussions for neglecting my duties, but at least my children will be safe. Only, for it to be convincing, you will have to…" he motioned to his head, his metal-clad hand curling into a fist. The Doctor shook his head determinedly.

"No…no I won't…I'm sorry, but…I just won't…"

"No. But I will."

Rory stepped forward, joining the Doctor and Amy, his back straightened and his eyes determined.

"I'll do anything to get Amy out of here, you know I will. Anyway, I bet you knew there was a reason you kept me around, Doctor." He smiled briefly, clapping the Doctor's shoulder with his hand. "Other than to keep you amused, that is."

The Doctor pursed his lips and seemed to consider. Very soon, a light seemed to ignite in his eyes, and his tight face relaxed into a wide grin, the first that had reached his eyes since they had landed on this sandy planet.

"Alright then," he clapped his hands together, rolling the sonic screwdriver affectionately between his palms. "Lets do this thang!"

x

x

The floor was uncomfortable.

Jack had tried to ignore it for as long as possible, keeping himself stoically seated with his legs to his chest and his chin rested on his knees. The pain shooting through his buttocks and thighs, as the jagged concrete ground against the bones, was something that he was convinced he was going to endure, maybe as some sort of punishment. But, as the numbness began to flow through his leg muscles and creep up his spine, he realised that even he could not bear it anymore.

So he'd moved to the bench, retrieving his coat from the wooden planks and grasping it around his shoulders. Burrowing his face in it, he breathed in deeply, cursing gently when all he could smell was his own scent and a vague, foreign smell that had obviously come from the previous owner. Not even his coat could give him the comfort that it had once given him, however meagre that had been.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and began to think.

He remembered the girl who had looked in on him, the fear in her eyes blatant as she was herded backwards into the cell next to his. A part of him cursed silently, wishing that the walls to the cell were not made of reinforced concrete (or whatever equivalent this species used), if only so that he could catch another glimpse of the intriguing woman. Aside from her fiery hair, something which had always made him curious, there had been something her eyes, something that he recognised very much from his own younger days – a sense of excitement and adventure, her eyes twinkling with the memories of foreign stars.

He missed that part of himself, that carefree soul he had once been. That had been before he'd been eaten away with guilt, before he'd had the weight of eternity rested on his shoulders. He even missed the conman persona that he had carried, remembering those many years flitting through stars and time with no concern for anyone or anything. Yes, he'd been a bastard, but he'd been a _happy_ bastard.

That had been before the Doctor, before he shattered his way into his life and forced a conscience on him. Now, sitting in this cell and unable to do anything to dispel the memories of a thousand losses, and a thousand more to come, he couldn't quite help but hate the Timelord for that. Eternity would be so much easier if he could forget how to _care_.

A sudden commotion seemed to brew outside, and he raised his head lazily, suddenly eager for some sort of theatrics to distract him from his current predicament. If there was a fight, or an escape attempt, then he could get some sort of pleasure from watching the ensuing excitement.

That is, until he heard a familiar _whirring_, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking open and rusted bars scraping along the harsh surface of the prison. He frowned, leaping from the bench and pressing his body against the bars, craning his neck as much as it would go to try and get a view of the unfolding events. He saw the fiery haired woman emerge from the opened cell first, followed by a scrawny, dark haired man with a look of determination on his face. By the way they turned to look at each other, each one smiling reassuringly and sharing in the excitement of the break out, Jack could easily work out that they were together.

Jealousy bubbled a little in his heart, hissing softly at his chest before sputtering out as he managed to quench it forcefully.

All thought of envy was chased from his mind as he took in the sight of the final inhabitant, his eyes widening as he took in the mesmerising sight of the tall, skinny figure, stumbling from the cage with his hair flopping unsophisticatedly into his eyes. There was an almost maniacal glare shining from his dark orbs, orbs that were laced with a timelessness that he had only seen in one place…

"Jack!"

The figure seemed to stiffen slightly as the word fell from his lips, head bowing ever so slightly. Jack remained silent, the veins popping from the back of his knuckles as he clenched his fists unconsciously around the bars of the cell. His eyes bored into the stranger's face, flicking over his face to try and ascertain for certain whether he was indeed the figure he seemed to be. Eventually, he took in a breath, licking his dry lips carefully.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded, reaching up to adjust his bow tie nervously.

"Erm…how have you been?"

"Brilliant. Yourself?"

"Good, good…ah…" he rocked forward on his heels, a movement that Jack recognised from the more familiar figures of the two Doctors he had had the…_pleasure_…to travel with. "So…been up to much?"

"Lounging in a cell, thanks."

"Ah…yes…forgot about that…and…ah…how's Alonso?"

Jack's eyes crinkled, confusion sweeping onto his features.

"Who?"

"Oh y'know, Alonso…you mean you don't…oh…_oh_...yes, that makes more sense now."

"What do you…ah," realisation began to dawn on Jack's face. "Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey?"

"Yes. Yes, something like that."

The red-haired woman strode forward, coming between them and pointing towards the lock on Jack's cell.

"I hate to interrupt this…touching…reunion, but we really need to go," she gestured towards the guard standing beside them readily, his gun abandoned on the floor as he observed the sight before him. Jack let a smile spread onto his face.

"I remember you."

The Rhyfelian bowed his head, respect shining in his eyes.

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir. But, with all due respects, I think you should free your friend," he turned to the Doctor. "Your ship has been captured – it's being held on the third floor of the Tactician Hall, which is straight to the right once you exit the cells."

The screwdriver _whirred_ into life as the Doctor aimed it at the lock confining Jack to his cell, releasing it with a _clang_ and yanking the doors open. The minute the obstruction had been removed from his path, Jack leapt from the prison, breathing in the free air deeply. Closing his eyes and smiling briefly, he turned to first the Doctor and then his human companions, quirking an eyebrow questioningly.

"So, these are…"

"Mr and Mrs Pond," the Doctor stated confidently, abruptly stung by the disapproving look that shot from the eyes of the scrawny male. "Sorry…I mean…this is Amy Pond and Rory Williams."

"Together?"

"Engaged," Rory smiled, moving closer to his fiancée, obviously protective in the vicinity of the alluring Captain. In any other circumstance, Jack knew he would have taken some sort of pleasure in the slight jealousy flickering in Rory's eyes. But now, after all this, there wasn't really much emotion that he could squeeze from it, instead flicking his eyes to Amy's ring finger.

"Oh…no ring?"

"He won't let me wear it," Amy was obviously impatient, her whole body quivering with the readiness to run. "Says I'll lose it if I do. So…introductions over. I really think that we should go now. Rory?"

He nodded slightly, stepping forward towards the armoured soldier and taking a hold of his hand in a firm shake. The Doctor nodded at the warrior over Rory's shoulder, his eyes shining with something that Jack couldn't quite fathom.

"Thank you, and good luck."

"Same to you, sir," he turned to Rory, reaching up to remove his helmet, revealing the same blue skin that had been visible amongst the women and children in the colonnade above. "Sir?"

"I'm sorry," Rory whispered leaning forward to grasp hold of the gun that the Rhyfelian offered to him, raising it in the air and bringing it down on the side of the blue-tinged skull with a sickening _crunch_. The alien stumbled, the fiery helmet falling from his hands as he fell to his knees, clutching the side of his head. A smile spread across his large, alien lips as he tumbled forward, managing a slight nod before he hit the surface.

"We didn't even know his name," Amy muttered sadly, reaching out her hand and drawing her fiancé back towards her, running soft fingers up his arm as she felt him trembling. Jack wrapped his arms protectively around his body, averting his gaze from the crumpled warrior and the humans standing sadly over him.

"Lofty," he whispered.

"What?"

"I called him Lofty," Jack shrugged. "I know it's stupid but…"

"No," the Doctor smiled, slipping his sonic screwdriver back into his pocket. "It's not stupid. Good old Lofty! Now, time to get out! I do believe some running is in order."

He clapped his hands together, turning to beam, somewhat nervously still, at Jack, who still lingered by the door of his cell.

"You still remember how to run, Jack?"

Jack smiled back. It didn't reach his eyes.

"What do you think I've been doing all this time?"

x

x

**TBC…**

x

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**_Thank you for reading. _

_Please, please give me us much feedback as you can. The bunnies grow hungrier and hungrier as the plot thickens, and they really do grow stronger with your comments. I give it its body, but you lot give it its breath, so thank you.  
_


	10. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thank you for your comments. I'm so thankful for your continued support for this fiction. I am hoping that we'll be able to get to 100 reviews for Chapter 10 because that would be absolutely incredible. I;ve never had this kind of response to anything I have ever written, and it really is overwhelming. So thank you so very much. Please be warned that the depictions of torture in this chapter are stronger than in the others_, _so if that is a trigger or a problem, please feel free to skip over that section. _

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 9**

x

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**

The blue box reared in front of them as they turned the corner, hurtling into the space that the fallen Rhyfelian had directed them to. It sat snugly in a tiny alcove, the remnants of the chains that had been used to haul it in position still pooled lightly around its base; the scratches that the metal links had made shone starkly in the dim light of the open door.

The Doctor raised his hand, running his fingers over one of the scuff marks, his face darkening ever so slightly. The pad of his thumb brushed against the chipped wood, the tiny splinters pricking the end of his thumb, drawing a droplet of blood to the surface. Blinking silently, he raised the splintered finger to his face, smearing the blood between his thumb and forefinger.

"What have they done to you?" he whispered, resting his forehead briefly against the wood of the door.

Jack stepped forward, brushing past Amy and Rory to stand beside the Doctor at the door of the Tardis. Reaching out, his hand brushed the deep blue of the painted wood.

"She's changed."

"A lot has," The Doctor raised his head, drawing himself up and away from his ship. "Now…shall we?"

His companions nodded as he opened the door, following him silently into the bowels of the ship. Jack scanned the new interior with curiosity; it was so much less ordered than the Tardis he had been familiar with. That Tardis had been so natural, as if it had been moulded on the shell of a living organism, reminiscent of coral almost. This new Tardis was more synthetic, like the insane creation of a mad professor; it was clumsy, disordered, and yet beautiful in its own maniacal way…sort of like this new regeneration, he decided.

"So…" Jack turned as he heard the Doctor voice, watching him flit between the controls like a bee to flowers. "Where do you want to go, Jack? I can take you to the Beaches of Algorn…"

"Doctor…"

"Or the moons of Sengalia, I always said we'd go there…"

"Doctor, wait…"

"_Or_, I know this really nice little bar down on the Outskirts, looks like a rip off from a George Lucas movie but the drinks…well…"

"_Doctor!_"

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, shoving his hands nervously into his pockets and swivelling on his heel to face the impossible man clinging to the railing of his ship. There was a crease in the Timelord's forehead, his whole face slightly skewed as he tried awkwardly to relax all the muscles of his body; he seemed to be trying at some semblance of normality, obviously unable ignore the rather large elephant in the room.

"Why am I here?"

"Well, if you didn't want me to get you out, I could have left you in the cell…"

"Why didn't you?"

The Doctor winced at the cold tone, a sudden flush creeping to his cheeks.

"Because you're…my friend, Jack…you're my friend and I won't just leave you; not now, not ever again."

Jack looked as though he would have scoffed, if he'd had the energy.

"You've changed your tune."

"Well, I'm a different person now, Jack," the Doctor raised his arms, bending them at the elbows to gesture at his new figure. "And…I'm older, as well."

Slumping back against the rail, Jack let a small smile, the expression not quite reaching his eyes as he locked gazes with the Doctor.

"And here I was thinking you were the eternal youth," he let out a huffed laugh. "I think I'll miss that. But, I suppose there's a lot to be said for experience as well."

"Oi, leave it," The Doctor smiled, casting a quick glance to Amy and Rory as they loitered in the corner, wisely steering clear of the conversation. "But I mean that. The Tardis has changed as well."

Jack shot him a questioning glance.

"Think about it. In the past, she's always run away…well, usually, that is. But this time she took us completely off course, landing us here for no real reason, and you just _happened_ to be here? Something tells me she wanted us to find you…she _wanted_ us to help you."

"She did?" Jack took a step forward, shucking his coat from his shoulders and hanging it haphazardly from the railings. "And will you?"

"What?"

"Help me?"

"Of course," The Doctor turned to the console once again, gesturing to Amy and Rory to come forward. "Amy, if you'd just like to hang on to that lever there…yep, just like that…and Rory, over here…that's right, hold on to that until I say otherwise…"

He spun around, hair flying wildly with the maniacal enthusiasm that Jack realised he was going to have to get used to.

"So, Jack…wherever you want. We'll get you there, I promise."

Jack swallowed hard, stepping forward to run his hands over the assorted buttons and levers adorning this shiny new console. It seemed to sing out to him slightly, the reverberations of the ship running up his arm and humming through his veins. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the calmness of the ship wash over him; reassuring and understanding, ushering him forward, almost willing him not to give up _just yet_.

He opened his eyes, casting a glance at the three people who now stared at him patiently.

"I need you to…"

The vibrations from his wrist strap cut him off, that familiar, hateful movement sending a shiver through his spine. The Doctor and his companions looked at him curiously as he fumbled for the buttons, holding his wrist out in front of them as he raised his gaze to their eyes.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, as the crackly blue projection emerged from his strap and began to play.

x

x

"_No one's coming." _

_The madman twisted the knife roughly, the jagged edges tearing at the flesh of his side with each swift turn. Ianto closed his eyes against the feeling, drawing his hands to his face and biting down hard on the leather strap encircling his wrist. He could feel tears forcing their way from his eyes and trickling down his cheeks as the harsh metal tore its way through his muscles, carefully avoiding any major organs in favour of prolonging the pain. _

"_You know where I learnt to do this?" his captor whispered, his fingers moving expertly over the hilt of the knife, twisting slowly and pushing deep. "They used to wake is up with this in morning, impaling us like animals so that we woke up knowing exactly what we were." _

_The knife slid out, pushing back in again roughly, the angle shifting so that the split skin was widened and forced outwards. _

"_Can you imagine what that's like? Every morning…sometimes we didn't even sleep because if we didn't go to sleep then we wouldn't have to be woken up." _

_A pained grunt forced its way from Ianto's throat as the knife continued to move, in and out, in and out, twisting and forcing and tearing. He could feel a scream bubbling in his windpipe, his chest hammering with the force of keeping it back. He wasn't quite sure why he was holding it back, but all he knew was that he didn't want to scream; he didn't want to drown out the gentle humming of the golden organisms that were now nestled just below his ear. If he screamed, he wouldn't be able to hear the singing. _

"_You know something?" he thought he could hear the voice of the madman catch ever so slightly, emotion filtering through the normally cold veneer. "After a while we began to realise that no one was coming. No one cared enough to come running after us. I always waited for him, for Jack, for my brother, but it didn't take long for me to realise that he wasn't coming." _

_The knife plunged in again, all care forgotten as it ripped through flesh and bone alike, puncturing the organs that lay beneath the muscle. The shock ran through Ianto's body, his limbs spasming against the pain and a cry gurgling from his throat. _

"_He does that, you know. He gets you to believe in him, and then he lets you down. He doesn't care enough about anybody – all he ever does is run away," Ianto heard a choking sound from above him, a strangled sob; he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, but he felt warm wetness drip onto his cheek. _

"_And yet everybody loves him – Jack the hero, Jack the stud, Jack who can have whoever he wants. You loved him, and what did he do? Even when you were dying he wouldn't give you what you wanted. He didn't even care enough to lie to you as you lay dying. That's how selfish he is, and yet you'll die for him. Who would die for me, Ianto Jones? Who could be bothered to risk their life to come and rescue me from the monsters?" _

_Ianto saw stars dancing in front of his eyes as the knife was pulled away, a numbness running through him as the blood drained slowly from the his veins. _

"_No one came. Do you hear me? No one came…no one ever came!"_

_The singing grew louder in Ianto's ears as he felt himself slipping into the darkness, the stuttered cries of the madman growing faint, as though the sound was reverberating back from the wall of a cave. He could feel his own breath rasping against his throat, growing shallow with each inhalation. The gentle humming of the nanogenes vibrating through his body soothed him as he slipped away. _

_In the split second before he died, the knife plunged once more into his side, wet, hot tears falling onto the wound as a hiss whistled into his ear._

"_I'll __**never**__ forgive them for that."_

x

x

Silence rang through the Tardis as the projection faded, the quiet crackling through the large space with more painful force than words could ever have. Amy reached out behind her, clutching blindly until she caught hold of Rory's hand, squeezing it tightly enough to cut off the blood circulation. He turned to her briefly, worming his hand away from hers so that he could drape an arm over her shoulder uncertainly, breathing out a sigh of relief as she moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"Jack…"

"Don't."

"No, I won't don't."

Jack's head shot up, his hand falling from his wrist strap and burrowing into his pocket. The Doctor stepped forward, mirroring Jack's defensive position as he squared up to him, hands in his pockets and back straightened.

"When I said that I wouldn't leave you, not now, not ever and never again, I meant that. Now, you tell me what's going on, because I have the rest of time to wait for you to be ready to talk."

"So do I, unless you forgot."

"Yes I know, and no I didn't. And I'm waiting."

Jack sighed, stepping forward and resting his hands against the console, bracing the weight of his body on his arms. The Doctor sauntered towards him, hands still in pockets, perching himself on the side a few feet away from him.

"Now, I know that that's Ianto Jones. I also know that he died. So logic dictates that something must have happened for him to be alive. So, if you know what happened, it would probably be best to tell me because otherwise we'll be in orbit for all eternity."

"You realise how confusing your new look is? You look like you've just come out of school and yet when you open your mouth…well…"

"_Oi_. Stop trying to distract me," he adjusted his bowtie, leaning lower so he could eye Jack from beneath the immortal's arms. "Now…"

Jack sighed, closing his eyes before casting them upwards to meet the Doctor's.

"It's my brother."

"You're brother?"

"Gray. We lost him as a kid and he always blamed me…as he should…and he came back to get his revenge. He was completely insane. The ones who kidnapped him, they were torturers, and that was all he had ever known. We lost Tosh and Owen to him; he killed them and he buried me under Cardiff for two thousand years," a sharp intake of breath from Rory was silenced by a sharp look of the Doctor's. "And I still couldn't kill him…" he cut off, breathing in deeply. The Doctor nodded knowingly.

"I understand…"

"No, you don't," Jack looked up, his face tight and eyes slightly reddened. "I _should_ have. He was a danger. And then when…when the Hub blew up the cryogenic chambers must have been released. He must have escaped, somehow, and now he's getting his revenge."

"By bringing Ianto back? But how…"

"Nanogenes, Doctor," he smiled wryly. "We have a strong history with those little bastards, remember? And now that's what he's doing – he takes him to the brink of death then brings him back, and then he _films_ it and send it through this."

He tapped his wrist strap, not even glancing down to look at it.

"He knows that that will hurt. I don't…I just…I wouldn't wish that on anyone. And I don't even know where to start looking for him, to rescue him, and Gray knows it. He knows just how to hurt me. He should do…we were so close, we were like one person when we were kids."

Burying his face in his hands, he sighed.

"It's all my fault. _I_ was the one who got Ianto into this mess, _I_ was the one who was stupid enough to let him die, _I_ was the one who wouldn't do what was necessary when it counted. I should have told him to get out before he got too deep, before it was too late to get out, but he followed me like a lamb to the slaughter. I might as well have held the knife that killed him."

He stopped suddenly as a hand cuffed him around the head, turning in surprise to see the fiery haired woman standing stoically beside him.

"We'll never find him if you're both going to stand here moping. That doesn't achieve anything," she tossed her hair, looking to the Doctor determinedly. "Can the Tardis follow the signal that was sent to the strap, Doctor?"

The Doctor stood up straight, a grin spreading to his face.

"It's very primitive technology, all things considered, but we can have a jolly good go."

"Good," she nodded, turning to Rory. "Rory, will you help him?"

"Of course, anything for you, my dearest."

"Shut up."

Rory smiled at her, brushing a hand past hers as he moved to join the Doctor at the console. She grinned at him, slapping her hand to his shoulder before turning back to Jack, the smile falling from her face as she took in the dullness in his eyes. Stepping forward, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll find him," she said quietly. "I hardly know you, but I'll say from what I've seen that he's lucky to have someone like you looking for him. I can imagine what Rory would be like if it was me; he's stupid for it really, but I can tell you're the same when it comes to that, even if you don't realise it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you'll go to the end of the world for the person you love."

Jack smiled sadly, shaking his head.

"Ianto was…I don't know what he was, what _we_ were, but I know we weren't that. I think it's more that I did _care_ about him, whatever else, and that it's my fault that all this is happening…"

"You keep telling yourself that, kid," she winked. "But when we find him…and we will, you trust me on that, because I won't let him _sit down_ until we do…maybe then you'll…"

She shrugged.

"I dunno. You don't need to listen to me...but as with most people, you'll be a lot better off if you did."

"You're that good, huh?"

"You catch on quick," she smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Now, come on. We need to find your man."

x

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**TBC…**

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_Thank you so much for reading! _

_Please review. I know we can get to 100 reviews, whether it's for Chapter 10 or after that. They will truly cheer me up for the sad anniversary that takes place this Friday. One year on, and Ianto Jones is still the heart of Torchwood. _

_Thank you again. _


	11. Chapter 10

_A/N: We're nearly there! I never believed it would happen, but now I'm beginning to think that we really can get to one hundred reviews for this chapter! You are all incredible, absolutely incredible, and I wouldn't be anywhere without you. Unfortunately, this chapter took a little longer than usual, as I was distracted by newborn cousins and sent into such a rage by the homophobic attacks on the Ianto Shrine that I couldn't get anything out. But, here it is, finally. Not much happens in this chapter, but this is the lead-on chapter - this is the necessary build up to get things moving. Many of you have made comments regarding "please, just rescue Ianto already" and I assure you that we are nearly there. But all roads are bumpy, of course. _

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 10**

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"No, no, NO!"

"What is it, what's wrong?"

"We've lost it!"

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair nervously as Jack slumped against the railing, his chin dropping to his chest. Amy hovered anxiously in the background, hands twisting in the material of her skirt as her eyes fixed on the man before them, obviously debating whether or not to reach forward.

Eventually, Jack raised his head, back straightening against the metal rail.

"Can you find it again?"

The Doctor shook his head, and Jack turned away, hands buried in his pockets.

"Jack," the Doctor stepped away from the console, leaning towards him. "You know it's not that simple. The signal's temperamental as it is – we can only pick it up again after another signal comes through, and even then it took us three days to fully latch onto it last time."

Jack turned back, fixing the Doctor with a glare.

"Another signal? Through this?" he tapped the wrist strap with such a force that Amy winced behind him. "So what you're saying is, and tell me if I'm getting this right, we can't trace the signal again unless we get another one of these…these…_presents_?"

The Doctor straightened, one hand still resting on the console of the ship as if for support.

"Jack, stop it…please…"

"So, in order to _save_ him we need to wait until he's _tortured _again," Jack began to pace, his feet beating out a rhythm to his frantic words. "We have to wait until he's…he's…you know…or else we don't find him? What kind of a rescue is that? What kind of a fucking…"

"For goodness sake, Jack!" the Doctor brought hand down on the console, the noise startling the immortal into stillness. "You think we enjoy this anymore than you? You think we don't want help you? We're doing the best we can."

"But that's not good enough!" Jack's hand came to his head, scraping through his hair harshly enough to tear at the roots; Amy winced as she saw the obviously painful tugging at his scalp. "You're the Doctor. You fix things. That's what you're supposed to do."

He laughed quietly, air whistling gratingly through his teeth.

"I suppose fixing things is something you've always fallen short on when it comes to me."

"Jack, I'm so sorry,"

"Don't be."

Jack swivelled on his feet, stepping towards where his coat had been slung in the corner of the Tardis. He swept past Amy, reaching out for the heavy blue material and slipping it on his shoulders, sagging ever so gently with the weight of it. The red-haired woman stepped out as he passed, blocking his path.

"You can't just run away."

Jack huffed.

"Why do people insist on telling me that?"

"We've been searching for weeks..."

"Just over two months, actually."

"Exactly. We'll get there, just give it time."

Jack lowered his gaze to the floor, fiddling absent-mindedly with the strap at his wrist as he refused to meet her eyes. Rory walked in at that point, stopping abruptly as he saw the sombre expressions and kept his distance, taking in the sight of the handsome man and his fiancée standing almost nose to nose.

Eventually, Jack looked up.

"I have so much time."

Amy reached out a tender hand to rest on his shoulder.

"Exactly – we can still find him."

"No, Amy," he backed away, her hand falling from his shoulder. "You don't understand. I have _too much_ time."

He glanced to the side, catching Rory's eye.

"You should go back to your boyfriend. Stop messing around in these things. It'll never end well."

Amy's nostrils flared as she turned her head, catching Rory's eye. He shook his head, stepping towards her and taking a hold of her hand in what she could only perceive as a supportive gesture. She knew that, in Rory's dreams, they would land back on Earth, get married, and have a normal life, with all the wonderful memories that they had made with the Doctor just that - memories. She also knew that she could never do that – and Rory would follow her into whatever danger she led him to.

Her heart gave a small leap as she squeezed Rory's hand back, her head whipping around to fix Jack with glare that was tinged with anger and guilt.

"Who are you to judge me on that?"

"The perfect judge, trust me," Jack snapped, pushing past her. "Either go home or leave him. Don't do what I did."

The Doctor stepped to block his path, his gangly arms stretching as far as they could; it was hardly much of a barrier, but Jack had never really been able to disobey the Doctor's orders. He stopped short, hands buried in his pockets and eyes boring into the Timelord's face impatiently.

"Jack...just wait…"

"Land her, Doctor."

"Just think about this."

"I have, Doctor," Jack's whole body seemed to wilt. "And I have to go. I have to get out. Please just…land her wherever we are, and then let me go."

The hands of the Timelord came to his bowtie, readjusting it nervously before hovering over the multiple switches on the console, seeming to dance in the air before going to work at the numerous levers and buttons. The whole ship juddered as it came to a halt, forcing the passengers to grab hold of the nearest raised surface. None of them managed to look at each other as the vibrations came to a halt; no sound was heard as Jack straightened his shoulders and headed towards the door.

"We'll be waiting for you," the Doctor called as Jack placed both hands against the door and pushed, but he refused to turn and acknowledge the words. As the door slammed shut behind him, a deathly silence descended on the three occupants still present in the ship. The Doctor's foot scuffed nervously against the metal floor, the sound echoing around the empty space.

Eventually, Amy broke the stillness, breaking free from Rory's hand and walking briskly towards the door. The Doctor stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't."

She turned to him, eyes blazing.

"We can't just let him go, Doctor."

"Yes, we can."

"We've no idea where we've landed! He could be anywhere!"

"He can look after himself," the Doctor ran a hand through his hair, scowling at Amy's disbelieving look. "What? He' a grown boy, he can look after himself – I can't hold his hand and tell him it'll be alright. He can deal with himself if he wants to…he's been doing it for over a century, after all."

"You keep coming out with this stuff, but it makes no sense!"

There were tears in Amy's eyes, her fists clenched by her side.

"A century? Buried under Cardiff? He's human, Doctor. Isn't he, Rory?"

The man shifted uncomfortably.

"Amy…"

"No, Rory, you're a nurse. Tell me he's human."

Rory shrugged.

"He looks human enough," he shuffled his feet, flinching somewhat as the glares of both bore into him, both asking something different of him. "But then, so do you, Doctor, so I really don't…"

He broke off as the Doctor sighed, leaning one hand dejectedly on the console to steady himself.

"It's a long story," the Doctor turned to Amy, his eyes softer than they had been. "He died, he was brought back to life and now he can't die – well, that's a lie, what it's really like is that he…well…he can't _stay_ dead."

Amy blinked.

"You say that like its completely normal."

"Well, I've done my fair share of reeling," the Doctor adjusted his coat, reaching around to pull the screen of the centre column towards him and peering at the numbers. "But that's done, that's over with – I'm over it. Now…let's see where we are…"

He punched in a few numbers, frowning as the screen lit up with information. Amy folded her arms and stepped forward, her unhappiness still etched across her face; she subdued it, however, joining the Doctor to peer over his shoulder, unable to decipher the information scrolling across the dusty screen.

"Oh…ah…"

"What?"

"Oh dear…well, that explains a lot."

Rory stepped forward, obviously eager to get into the conversation and, with that, to attempt to alleviate some of the tension still simmering in the air.

"What does it explain?"

The Doctor looked up.

"I've been here before."

x

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_The madman sat before him, their positions almost identical; legs bent to chests, their kneecaps so close they were almost touching. Only, he was holding himself up on his own strength – Ianto couldn't quite manage that, his spine supported by the rough metal of the side of the ship. He could hear a gentle dripping somewhere, a steady beat echoing out through the harsh material of the transport, whatever it was. The madman had told him that it was an ambulance at one point – or was it that it _would_ be an ambulance at some point? _

_He couldn't remember, exactly. But the irony didn't escape him. Even here, he had enough of his faculties left to recognise when something would be funny, even if he didn't feel like laughing. Not particularly. _

_The madman wasn't laughing. At least, not this time. Instead, he had his hands clasped together in front of him; fingertips brushing at the tattered material of what had once been Ianto's suit trousers, the pads of his fingers moving in small circles. Ianto watched them, the rotation almost hypnotic in its consistency; the touch light and soft. It had been some time since he'd felt anything light or soft. _

_He quite liked it. It was better than the rest, better than the knives and the pain – he willed his captor to carry on with this, not to be distracted; he wanted him to keep quiet, to keep still, to in some way forgive him and just stay like _this_ for as long as he could. In some ways, the quiet presence was comforting. It would be easier; he could spend forever like this, with the small constant movements on his knees and the gentle breathing in his ear. _

_But it didn't last. Nothing ever did. He saw the mouth of the psychopath open before sound came out, and he flinched instinctively, his ears ringing already with the words he was expecting to come. _

"_It's not my fault," the madman's voice was fragile. "I didn't mean to be this." _

_Ianto shuffled back as far as he could, not quite enough to break the contact but enough to feel safer. He buried his bound hands to his chest, squashing them between his ribs and his knees protectively; this strange tone was more terrifying than the usual harshness, because at least then he _knew_ what was coming. This was quite and soft – deceptively so. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up against his fingertips, his breath catching as he tried to still it; he knew his captor could hear the drumbeat coming from his chest, knew that he could smell his fear. _

_That made him vulnerable. He hated being vulnerable. Even after all this, he retained enough humanity to want to be in control – if only in control enough to still be able to hate the man in front of him. The minute that failed…he didn't know what would happen… _

_The madman inched closer, the rubbing on his knees becoming more frenetic. _

"_Why are you trying to get away? I'm not bad…I never wanted to be bad…all I wanted was to be good." _

_Hands reached forward, plunging down behind the right-angle of his legs and gripping hold of Ianto's fingers. He felt his whole body tense against the touch, the frozen muscles quivering ever so slightly. The ringing in his ears grew even louder as he felt their two heartbeats together, pulsing out of synch against his fingers. He wanted to get away as the sensation burned through his skin… but he couldn't. _

"_Do you hate me?" the grip grew tighter, squeezing so tightly on Ianto's fingers that he felt his hand would explode. "Why do you hate me? Why? You don't hate him, you love him, but you'll hate me? How is what I have ever done worse than him?"_

_Something cracked. A small noise escaped Ianto's mouth as he felt his hand snap, the bones crunching together as the quivering hand of his captor squeezed. The madman didn't notice, tears pouring down his cheeks and falling like searing lava onto Ianto's skin. _

"_Why can't you love me, too? Why can't anyone love me like you love Jack?"_

_The hand moved from his now withered fingers to his chest, inching aside the torn and tattered buttons of his shirt. Ianto's breath hitched as the fingers pushed against his ribs, the nails digging painfully against him and pushing the tired skin against the bone. The madman leaned in close, using his free hand to grasp the leather binding Ianto's wrists and force his arms above his head. _

"_You know he doesn't love you like you loved him."_

_He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over Ianto's lips, hand carding down to caress gently over his sternum, then his stomach…lower…_

"_But I can love you…" _

x

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The hustle and bustle of the bar hit Jack as soon as he walked through the door, enveloping him with a blessed wave of incoherency. This was something that he hadn't been able to get in the Tardis; after all those months of losing himself in the vastness of the universe, the claustrophobic nature of the Doctor's ship had trapped him in his thoughts. He'd gone from hiding away to being forced to confront everything he hadn't wanted to face.

It had been a shock to the system.

Here, however, he could lose himself. He stepped forward, his coat rustling behind him masterfully as he surveyed the interior. A wave of disappointment hit him as he saw the familiar surroundings, the grotty, cheap nature of the place eliciting a distinct shudder as opposed to the thrill of excitement these places usually brought him. The whole building was built and designed in such a way that would have George Lucas suing them over copyright issues, if only humanity had developed the technology to get him here.

Unbeknownst to George himself, Jack knew that the Star Wars films were every bit as popular in the greater universe as they were on Earth – even though their depictions of space life were grossly inaccurate (even with Jack himself as a source, though, of course, he'd never disclosed that particular venture to his Torchwood employers), they excited the sensibilities of many species, garnering a huge fan base. Torchwood had more than once had to divert the attentions of fans arriving on Earth, eager to meet the creator of such a quaint little series.

As such, many bars, such as this, had sprung up as "space outlets". Modelled upon the inaccuracies of the original films, they attracted fans and non-fans alike. That vision, that inaccuracy, had become a reality, and bars like this were a melting pot of outsiders from everywhere in the universe. It was full of every being he could imagine; ranging from the carpet cleaners of the universe to some of the bigger bullies, the more impressive flexing their muscles and size in front of the many females.

He tried for a half-hearted grin as he continued to walk, flashing his teeth at the nearest girl he could find. She glared at him as he passed, the forced nature of his look stretching his features into more of a leer. He quickly realised that he was looking much more creepy than seductive, and he quickly sealed his lips, hurrying away to the other side of the bar.

He needed a drink.

As soon as his order arrived, he took a sip, grimacing slightly as the liquid burned his throat unpleasantly. He let it drop to the bar surface, focusing his eyes on the rippling of the surface and letting the movement lull him into a sense of complacency. The noise he had hoped would distract became an annoying buzz in his ears, the words and sounds of outsiders like himself serving to make him feel even more excluded.

He just wanted to lose himself, and all this rip-off bar was doing was reminding him of Earth. He remembered that Ianto had liked Star Wars, remembered him telling him once that, with the hell they had to deal with in Torchwood, the sheer ridiculous nature of the films had helped him to escape. They'd made him feel as though it wasn't all bad, that somewhere out there, there really were heroes and people who actually didn't want to kill him.

Jack lowered his head further, the tip of his nose almost brushing against the rim of his glass. He should have shattered those illusions as soon as they'd arrived. Perhaps if he'd have given him a reality check, forced him to be alert…after all, Ianto had been his…his colleague and friend…and he had cared about him. He should have tried harder, with him and with Owen and with Tosh and Stephen and Alice _oh _God…

It was _his fault_. Of course, Ianto always had been alert, more aware of the dangers than the others had ever been, but Jack still felt that he could have done _more_.

_What if…what if…what if…_

Suddenly, he became aware of the barman trying to get his attention, shattering the painful circles his mind was travelling in. He shook his head slightly, looking up as the man handed him a folded note, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"From the man over there."

Jack looked up, his eyes narrowed as his fingers tightened over the note. He wasn't expecting to see what he saw.

_His_ Doctor.

Standing separately from everyone, hands in his pockets, looking at Jack with an overwhelming expression of guilt and repentance and…was that affection? Jack gulped. The only thing he wanted to do at that point was get up and fulfil the promise he had made all those years ago, to kiss him and then kill him, but something in the look of the Timelord's face stilled him in his tracks.

Jack felt something in him lurch as the Doctor nodded, motioning for him to read the note. His fingers trembling, he managed to inch the folded corners apart, spreading it before him and taking in the words that it said – and as he did so, a young man with a forlorn expression sat beside him. He followed the Doctor's gaze to him, taking in his expression before flicking his eyes back to the Doctor.

The Doctor nodded.

That was all he needed – he was tired of thinking, and the soldier in him thanked the Doctor for giving him an order to follow. It was a lot easier than making his own way in this world, and, as the good soldier he was, he brought his hand to his forehead, saluting this Doctor for what he realised would be the last time

He pushed aside the faint memory of the Doctor – well, the other one – asking him where Alonso was as he sidled up to the young man. He tried to ignore the fact that this was the Doctor's repentance, his forgiveness; that this was all the Doctor felt he needed to heal from the events which had shattered his life apart. And, as he flashed that grin that he had perfecting for decades, he refused to acknowledge the part of his mind screaming "I need more from you!"

All he knew was that - right here, right now - he needed to forget.

That was all he wanted.

He didn't need anything else.

He didn't...

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TBC

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_Thank you for reading. _

_Please review! The bunnies promise to perform their special little dance if we get to 100!_


	12. Chapter 11

_A/N: Ooch, we're at 99 reviews! I can't believe I've nearly got 100 reviews for something I have written. It's completely overwhelming, and I literally cannot believe it. Thank you so much. I know it has been a long, hard road so far in this fic, but I can assure you that the first length is nearly over - many reviewers have commented that they can hardly bear any more Ianto torture, and that particular journey is nearly ended. The biggest journey begins after that. But first, thank you for your continued support, and I hope you enjoy the latest installment. I am also trying to write a short story for the Sex, Wales and Anarchy competition, first prize being your story read out by Gareth David-Lloyd at the event, so that's the reason for the long intervals recently. _

_Thank you so much, and I hope I meet your expectations.  
_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 11**

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Jack ran a hand through his hair and tugged the sheet further up his waist. He wasn't usually one for modesty, but he wasn't feeling particularly good about himself at that precise moment. He cast a quick glance upwards as he clutched the sheet to his chest, taking in the sight of the young man currently pulling on his clothes at the end of the bed.

He shifted uncomfortably, the movement causing his young companion to turn, their eyes meeting briefly before fluttering away. Jack took a breath, his fingers twisting into the bed-sheets nervously.

"Look…" he tried, his tongue running over his lips as he tried to force the words from his brain. "I didn't mean it to be…"

"I know," the young man…no, Alonso, that was his name…tugged his shirt over his shoulders, fingers fumbling ever so slightly as he attempted to fasten the buttons. "I'm not naïve. I travel around a lot; I don't expect much anymore."

Jack sighed.

"I'm sorry; I don't usually…" he bit his lip. "Well, I've been around and I make a point of avoiding that happening. It's not happened before."

A sad smile spread across Alonso's

"Must have been someone special."

"No…I mean…it's complicated..."

Alonso stood up, hauling his trousers to his hips as he met Jack's eyes searchingly.

"Complicated?" he raised an eyebrow, the look in his eyes forbidding Jack from skimming over the question. The immortal tried to tear his eyes away, but that was something swimming in those irises that was incredibly familiar to him, so similar to a look he had seen before. A dull ache ignited in his chest, finally allowing him to lower his head and focus his gaze on the sheets twisting angrily in between his fingers.

"He…" Jack swallowed hard. "He died."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't know him, so don't be."

"I'm sorry for _you_."

Jack looked up.

"You are?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

A shrug lifted Jack's shoulders as he continued to finger the cotton of the sheets, his cheeks tugging upwards into a small smile.

"You don't know me."

A sigh ricocheted through the room, startling Jack away from his fixation with the sheets. Alonso stepped forward, settling the collar of his shirt before shucking himself down on the bed, inching upwards so that he could look Jack square in the eye.

"You don't have to _know_ someone to see that they're hurting."

"Didn't realise I was that obvious," a look of disappointment and surprise clouded Jack's features, despite the smile that rested deceptively on his lips. Alonso snorted, a derisive sound that wasn't quite as cutting or sardonic as the man he emulated in other ways – something that sparked a wave of relief to flow over Jack.

"You emit 'my life is broken and meaningless' vibes from a mile off."

"I do?"

"Yep."

"Well, damn," Jack ran a hand through his hair and smiled, leaning back against the pillows. "D'you always go for the dark and depressing type then?"

"I think you'll find it was you going for me."

The smile dropped from Jack's face so quickly it was as if he had been punched in the gut.

"Oh…right…" pushing back the sheet, Jack swung out of bed, suddenly uncaring as to the whether the younger man felt uncomfortable (which to his credit, Jack noted in some subconscious part of his mind, he didn't). Padding quietly to where he'd thrown his clothes haphazardly, he began to sort through them, quickly finding his shirt and trousers and pulling them on as hastily as possible.

Alonso eyed him suspiciously, his fingers clenched at the edge of the bed. Jack shot him a sharp glance.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

Jack hooked his thumbs beneath his braces, hauling them over his shoulders and wincing slightly as they _snapped_ into place.

"_Oh nothing_, really?"

Alonso shrugged.

"You just seem in an awful hurry to leave all of sudden," a frown creased his features. "What did I say? You _were_ cruising me – and not too well, I'll add."

"I just…" Jack grabbed for his coat, missing it and having to grasp the chair to steady himself. "I have people waiting for me, I need to get back to them."

"Oh. Nice for you."

"Yeah," Jack eventually succeeded in putting on his coat, shoving his hands in his pockets and wrapping the thick, blue material around himself. "You?"

Alonso stood up so that they were basically the same height, leaning on the doorframe of the poky room that they'd managed to stumble into. They could hear the hustle and bustle of the bar below them, joining the creaking of the floorboards and the disconcerting rustle that seemed to emanate from every corner of the…_suite_.

"I'm tracking for the Penumbra Corps," he nodded his head towards the door, as if somehow that explained everything. "Got called in by the Chulaains to trace a stolen ship."

"Ah," Jack grinned. "A lone wolf – always had a soft spot for you guys at the Penumbra"

"I see that."

"What are you tracking?"

"Well, that's classified, really," Alonso crossed his arms and leant back further against the doorframe, the smirk ever so slightly forced. Jack smiled again, sidling further towards him.

"Which just makes it more exciting…"

The artificial smirk dropped from Alonso's face, and he coughed, lowering his gaze.

"Oh, so now we're not so eager to leave?" he sighed, shuffling his feet slightly uncomfortably on the floor. Jack took the hint and stepped back, widening the gap between them.

"Sorry, I won't…"

"No, don't worry. It's nothing important anyway," he sniffed, his hand reaching out to grip the door handle. "Some nutcase nicked a Chula Ambulance – still can't work out why the hell that is, but they want me to find it. I should probably get going, if I don't want to lose them. I'm quite close, just stopped here to refuel the tanks, so I think I'll…"

He turned to leave, yanking the door towards him and stepping over the threshold. Before he could start down the stairs towards the bar area, however, he felt a strong hand gripping his sleeve, yanking him back through the door. He stumbled against Jack's solid bulk, tensing defensively.

"What the fuck are you…?"

"What did you say?"

"I said, what the fuck are you…?"

"No, before that."

There was a fire burning in Jack's eyes, flames licking along the depths of his irises with such ferocity that Alonso felt himself stumbling back, as far as he could with the fierce grip on his arm.

"I don't…"

"The ambulance!" Jack was shouting now, rearing up to his full height like an angry cobra, spit flying from his lips. "What did you say about the ambulance?"

The young man flinched as the grip tightened, fingernails digging painfully into his flesh.

"I…the Chula Ambulance…they…ouch!...they said it was stolen from them a few months ago. They want me to…ah!...find it for them; they contacted the Penumbra, wanted them to send an agent so they sent me…Jesus, let go!"

He yanked his arm away from Jack's grasping fingers, falling backwards against the wall and cradling his sore bicep to his chest. The older man stumbled back, his eyes boring into the floor as a thousand thoughts flickered through his mind. His eyelids fluttered ever so slightly as he raised his gaze to meet Alonso's indignant, slightly fearful expression.

"I'm sorry…I was just…"

"Nah, I get it," Alonso rubbed his arm. "You pick up a random guy in a bar, fuck him and then assault him. Nice."

"No…I need you to come with me."

Alonso's eyes flashed, a snort of disbelief forcing its way from his windpipe.

"Please," Jack stepped forward, hands up placatingly. "You don't understand, I need you to…"

"Okay, I'll come with you."

Jack's eyes brightened.

"Really?"

"Of course I bloody won't!"

"Okay," Jack breathed in and out again deeply, closing his eyes briefly. "Can I at least explain myself? Please? Just listen to me?"

Alonso folded his arms, eyeing Jack cautiously before nodding his head.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

x

x

_The golden clouds had disappeared, but Ianto knew that they were still there. He couldn't see them anymore, but he could feel them buzzing in his ears. Sometimes, it was like they were singing to him, and he would feel his head lolling onto his chest, a smile spreading across his face as they lulled him into unconsciousness. He didn't know how he'd cope without them, how he'd stay together if they hadn't been there, small and unspeaking yet large and loud at the same time._

_Sometimes he could even feel them surging around inside him, but then he'd think that maybe that was because he was going crazy. _

_He thought he'd fended off the craziness well up till that point. But now he wasn't so sure. Sometimes he would catch himself listening to the song of cloud, drifting off in time to the gentle patter that those now-invisible golden beings emitted, and he'd wonder just how much lucidity he had left. _

_The worst thing was that he could feel something in his mind thinning, could feel the strain that it took for the threads to hold themselves together. And, any day, he knew that the madman was going to turn up with a pair of scissors and sever that one final strand that was holding him together. Or it would just get too much and it would snap – he tried to hold it together, but his hands were bound together and he couldn't reach out to grab them. _

_He twisted his hands in his leather bonds, wrenching his wrists apart futilely, a single tear falling silently, unfeelingly down his cheek as the material cut into his wrists. Somewhere in his mind, he felt that if he could break free from the bonds then he could catch a hold of the fraying thread within his brain – if he could just break free from the straps, then he wouldn't have to worry about going crazy. He could stop it. He really could. _

_Eventually, the skin of his wrists sore and chafed by the biting leather, he leant back against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his hands in his lap. His chest ached as he struggled to hold himself in, panic rising from his lungs as he realised that there was nothing he could do. He'd always wanted to fight; even when he'd wanted to give up there'd been something in him that wanted to fight, but now he didn't know how to do that – how could he fight when he could hold onto his own sanity?_

_A sob forced its way from his lips, and a swallowed hard, biting it back. No crying. _

_That strand was so thin. So fucking thin, and there was nothing he could do but sit there lamely and wait for it to snap. If he cried…well, if he cried maybe those vibrations would be the thing to break it. And he wasn't ready to go, not yet, he didn't want to go._

_He squeezed his eyes shut and went back, remembering anything he could, his knuckles whitening as he clutched at air, grasping at memories that could root him in the past so that he didn't get lost in the present. And it wasn't the good memories he wanted – no, he couldn't remember the good things, not now. _

_Memories of lying in bed with Jack after fucking, that gentle buzzing and heightened sensitivity, so very similar to the movements of the golden beings flowing through his mind. Remembering working on a case, drinking with Gwen and Tosh and Owen, the thrill of chasing a weevil, of Lisa and her soft voice ringing in his ears…_

_These memories lulled him, soothed him. He could feel himself sinking with each one. No! He didn't want that! He needed something else, something sharp…_

_He could remember the pain of a belt on his back, not used often, but enough to ring through in his memories, the physical memory as heightened as the sounds of it snapping against his skin. He held onto that, because that pain was real and it kept him grounded. It had hurt. He remembered that. He could remember Rhi encircling him in her arms, holding him to her chest, right up to those fateful months when his father had deteriorated. Little things like the way she had smelt of talcum powder against him, the way that he hair had tickled the back of his neck; he could remember the first time he had held David, the baby smell so weird and alien and the way he squirmed frightening him. He hadn't held him again for such a long time, because he'd been so damned __**scared**__. _

_He remembered that fear, unlike anything he'd ever felt. It felt good to remember that – like he was back there, rooting himself in his past rather than facing up his future. He wanted to be the person he was, to hold on to the things that defined him. It was a shot in the dark, and he could feel his grip slipping, but it was worth a fucking __**try**__. _

_**It was**__. _

_His eyes opened as he heard footsteps, his fists clenching harder as he struggled to focus on the memories rather than the imminent future. He could feel the golden clouds playing out a tune in his head, weaving together and dancing across his eyelids, recreating the memories he was so desperate to hold on to. He smiled. They knew what he wanted. These things…nanogenes?...were on his side. It felt good to have a friend. _

_Suddenly, he decided that if this was going crazy, then he really didn't mind. _

x

x

The Doctor shoved his hands in pockets, one foot propped against the console to support him as he rocked backwards and forwards. He could see Amy out of the corner of his eye, arms folded stiffly against her chest and feet clacking steadily against the metal floor as she paced. His eyes flicked to her face, sensing the tightening in her brow with the effort of containing herself. The vein in the corner of her forehead began to pulse rapidly, and the Doctor closed his eyes, preparing himself for the onslaught that would follow the dam breaking.

It didn't take long.

"For God's sake, Doctor!" Amy flung her hands into the air, eyes blazing as she rounded on the Doctor fiercely. "We have to go after him. He's been gone for hours."

The Doctor opened his eyes, fixing her with a glare that didn't welcome argument.

"We let him do what he needs to do," he said quietly, firmly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "We don't chase him – we never chase him."

"So you're just going to let him stay out there, to let him go," Amy's bottom lip trembled as her eyes filled with tears. "Is that what you'll do? Will you leave us eventually?"

"No."

His whispered response failed to convince her and she spun around, falling into the open arms of Rory, who immediately encircled her in his warmth. The Doctor locked eyes with the young man, nodding slightly in thanks as he rubbed his hands in small circles across her back, soothing her the best he could. Rory smiled a tiny, sad smile, kissing the top of Amy's fiery head before burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

Watching the two of them, the Doctor sighed, before turning back to his propped up position on the console, eyes boring almost accusingly into the door of the Tardis. His fingers curled into a fist in his pocket as he heard Amy's sobbing subside, muffled by the warmth of Rory's coat and morphing into slow, steady breathing; she was hurting and there was nothing he could do. Just like with Jack, and everybody else, there was nothing he could do – that she had Rory was such a special thing, something that she needed, and he was so glad that they were here together.

Suddenly, the doors flung open, light filtering sharply through the doors. Amy spun away from Rory, keeping tight to his side but facing the door as the Doctor threw a hand to his eyes to shield them from the light. A heavy silence filled the room as Jack stepped through, his coat wrapped solidly around him and his eyes refusing to meet the gaze of his companions.

"Jack…" The Doctor stepped forward, stilling abruptly when he saw the quiet young man who followed Jack into the Tardis, his arms wrapped slightly nervously around his body.

"Alonso!"

The young man looked up accusingly, cautiously, catching the Doctor's eye and somehow noting the silent authority he held.

"Do I know you, sir?"

"Yes! I mean…silly me!" The Doctor whacked his palm against his forehead, grinning manically. "I'm the Doctor…I've just had…y'know, a makeover…" he circled his face with his finger, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "Long time no see!"

Alonso cracked a tiny smile, catching the Doctor's hand in his own.

"Doctor? Is it really…?"

"Titanic, Christmas, flying over Buckingham Palace – your boss, Mr Capricorn, had a nasty habit of trying to kill me…and you…"

"Yeah," Alonso scratched the back of his neck shyly, notably brightening as seemed to accept that the strange, gangly man was somehow the Doctor he had once met. "That wasn't the best job I've ever had."

"So!" the Doctor clapped his hands, noting in his mind the distance between Jack and Alonso and swallowing hard. "What brings you here to my humble abode…I mean, of course, my amazing, genius, time-bending magic machine?" he stroked the railing affectionately, following the movement with his hand to distract himself from the tension crackling through the room.

"He…uh…I'm doing some tracking for the Penumbra Corps and…"

"Oh, those devils!" The Doctor clapped Alonso on the shoulder, beaming brightly. "Always had a soft spot for you lot – always pro-active."

"What's the…" Rory broke into the conversation, obviously struggling to hide the confusion that had been building within both of the humans since Jack had joined their crew some months ago. "The Penum…ah…I mean…"

"The Penumbra Corps are a breakaway branch of the Shadow Proclamation – they do the physical work that the Proclamation can't be bothered to do, the brute force and the grunt. Think the A-Team, soldiers of fortune only…not…if you know what I mean."

Amy and Rory looked blank, and the Doctor sighed, turning back to Alonso.

"Anyway…where were we?"

"We were talking about why Alonso is here," Jack grunted, motioning for Alonso to follow him as he strode purposefully towards the console. As he arrived at the centre, Alonso as close to him as he could be without infringing on any personal space, Jack pulled the screen towards him, punching in a few buttons to pull up a map.

"Is this okay for you?"

Alonso nodded.

"I can work with this, if it'll be compatible with my own technology."

"This is Timelord technology, it's compatible with virtually anything," Jack gave a hurried smile and rested an awkward hand on Alonso's shoulder, before turning back and meeting the confused faces of the Doctor and his human companions. The Doctor was the first to step forward, his eyes full of concern and questions.

"Jack, what are you…?"

"Alonso's going to help us," Jack cut in and grinned, the motion not quite meeting his tired eyes as he swept his gaze around the room.

"He's going to help us find Ianto."

x

x

**TBC…**

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_Thank you ever so much for reading - I love you all! _

_Your reviews continue to inspire me, so please give as generously as possible!_


	13. Chapter 12

_A/N: First of all, I have to deliver my utmost apologies for the lateness of this chapter. This is a pivotal chapter, and I have been suffering from a terrible case of writer's block - I did not want to rush it, or force it into directions that it didn't want to go. I have not slept properly for over two months, as my A Level results, which determine my University place, are looming (this Thursday - coincidentally, Ianto's birthday), and this perpetual exhaustion has taken its toll on my ability to write quickly, or indeed, to write well. The last few weeks have been focused on fighting through this to complete my entry for the Sex, Wales and Anarchy Short Story Competition, which is now done, as well as chronic disillusionment in the Torchwood fandom in general. But, I've broken through it, and feel fresh and ready to write. That's all the apologies I can give, and I hope you will continue to read and will not give up on me as a result of such a long delay. _

_Secondly, I have to send out a huge thank to all my readers and my reviewers...as this fiction has been nominated for TWO Children of Time Awards! In the "Slash" category and in the "Angst" category. I cannot believe this, and the fact that people would think of nominating one of my fictions literally did bring tears to my eyes. I still find it difficult to believe that it's actually happened, but it has. So thank you, thank you so much for your continued support, your continued readership, and I hope I can continue to meet your expectations and bring you a story that is worth it in the end. _

_Thank you. All of you.  
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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 12**

Jack's feet beat out an uneven rhythm as he paced the circumference of the console, his eyes flicking from the various screens and dials to the young man tapping nervously at the keys. His hands buried themselves deep within the confines of his pockets, crossing over his stomach to draw the coat tightly, protectively around his body.

The Doctor leant against the railings of the Tardis, his eyes watching Jack closely as he drew closer to Alonso, leaning over his shoulder to invade his personal space.

"Jack."

The immortal stiffened as the Doctor's words permeated the air, his face hovering just close enough to Alonso's back to cause the younger man to flinch uncomfortably. The tension in the air crackled unpleasantly, the strength of it almost enough to set the Doctor's hair on end.

"Jack," he tried again, clearing his throat noisily and forcing Jack to step away from his unwilling helpmeet. "This really isn't helping."

Jack bowed his head ever so slightly, his hands, still buried in the depths of his coat, tightening across his stomach until he was cocooned in the rough, blue material of his greatcoat. The Doctor smiled slightly uncertainly as he beckoned Jack towards him, silently wishing that Amy or Rory would appear from the labyrinth of the Tardis to catch him. For all his travels, he wasn't particularly good at this type of thing – that was why he travelled with humans, because he needed that grounding and support and that link to the worlds he was trying to save.

The blue eyes of Jack Harkness fixed sharply on his own as he stepped forward, following the Doctor as he led them away from the main console room and into one of the many adjoining corridors. The Time Lord turned on his heel as the door closed behind him, resting his foot on the wall and craning his neck backwards to look down at Jack.

"What do you want?" Jack sighed heavily, scuffing his boot against the floor and focusing on the swirl of dust that followed the movement.

"To get you away from him, would be a start," the Doctor motioned with his head towards the now closed door. "He needs the space to work, and he's not happy with you breathing down his neck. It's distracting. And no wonder. With those pheromones, it's a wonder that anyone ever got any work done under your command."

Jack looked up sharply.

"Well, they did. Because they were brilliant. In fact, they got on just fine without me. I think they'd have been better off, to tell you the truth, if I'd been as irresponsible as you obviously wanted me to be, and followed you for the rest of my eternity."

The Doctor's hand rose to the back of his neck, fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Jack…" he sighed. "Stop it."

The man in question glared at him petulantly.

"Stop what?"

"I don't know!" The Doctor stretched out his arm, flinging it wildly into the air. "The self-doubt, perhaps? The self-deprecation? The little buzzy force field around you that just buzzes with a buzziness of self-loathing…look at it there it is. _Buzzzz. _You see?" he flicked his fingers randomly in the air between them. Jack's glare intensified, and he quickly dropped his hands to his pocket.

"I mean, ah, by all means, in your own time, feel free to hit yourself over the head with a chair, but there are other things to focus on at the moment – finding your Jones, would be a start. And for that, I need you _here_. With _me_. Imagine what it would be like if we pull him out of this only for him to be hit by a wall of…_buzziness_."

Jack scoffed.

"Why do you care?"

"Or…" the Doctor held up a hand, continuing as if he hadn't even heard Jack's question. "We could just regress back to the years of our youth, and rebel against poor mummy and daddy, asking inane questions that don't actually really need an answer because the one asking the question thinks he has the answer already and wouldn't believe the answer even if he was told it."

Taking a step back and wrapping his coat further around him, Jack's scowl deepened so that it wrinkled the skin around his eyes.

"We'll find him, Doctor. And then, we send him home. Where he belongs. Now, seeing as you're so eager to find him, I need to be getting back to the monitoring the tracking progress."

He spun, just as the Doctor reached out and gripped the sleeve of his jacket, tugging him back to him.

"Jack, just think about it for a second. You can't mean that you're just going to…"

"Run away?" the Doctor nodded sheepishly as Jack plucked the words from his mouth. "Why not? I learnt from the best, after all."

The Timelord sighed as he lowered his gaze, scuffing his shoes uncomfortably on the floor before rocking forward to the balls of his feet. Jack's gaze was like a mixture of fire and ice, coldness and raging heat; each burning with their own intensity. He opened his mouth to retort, immediately thinking better of it as Jack continued, launching into a tirade.

"You've always run away. And I've always forgiven you, because…I thought I understood why you did it. But it just gets to a point, Doctor, where…I can't…not anymore. I'm an ass, Doctor – I always have been, and you've always known that. And you accepted that, like I accepted you. He'll be better off without me, once we find him..." he suddenly laughed, tipping his head and hooking his hands at the back of his neck, as if trying to support his own weight against the air. "…though you seemed to conveniently forget this when it came to clearing your own conscience."

The Doctor's head snapped up, indignation lighting in his eyes.

"No, Jack, that wasn't me. Well, it was, but it also wasn't…you know what I mean. And you can't really say it was so much as clearing my conscience…I mean, I was just trying to…"

"Help?" Jack raised an eyebrow as the Doctor nodded minutely. "So, you thought you'd sit aside whilst my life fell apart, and then make up for it by pimping me out to some guy you once met? That would 'help' me?"

"Erm...well...if you say it like that then it's going to sound…"

"You think all I needed was another warm body, which, by the way, I could have found by myself if I'd wanted to. I do have quite a lot of experience in that area, unless you've forgotten that as well. And that you'd think that was all I needed…that's how little you actually think of me."

"No...Jack..."

"What do you think I've been doing these past few months, trying to forget, trying to block everything out. And it didn't _work_, Doctor, it never worked. I need you to help me, Doctor, I've always needed you to help me, but you can't if you don't _understand_."

"So you and Alonso…you did…?"

"What do you think?"

"Yyyyy-yes?"

"And now I've hurt him too. He says it's okay, that it's fine; but I've been in enough of these things to know that if someone calls out someone else's name when they come, it's pretty damned insulting. I've once again proved what an ass I am, to everyone."

The Doctor stepped forward suddenly, placing his hands on Jack's shoulders and pressing down with his long fingers, holding him firmly in place.

"I want you to listen to me, Jack Harkness," Jack tried to turn away, only to have himself pulled back as the Doctor's surprisingly strong fingers dug painfully into his shoulder blades.

"I'm not used to failing. I never fail. I'm the Doctor: I always have the answers, I always save the world, but you, Jack, you are the _one _person I can never save. I don't have your answers. I want to have your answers, I want to fix you, but I just…_can't_. Because you're…you're…"

"Impossible," Jack finished for him, a tired smile on his face.

"Impossible," his lanky haired companion agreed, matching the smile as best he could. "And that's a unique thing to be. There's no one else like you. But I want you to remember that you are _fantastic_…nuh-uh!" he shook his head as Jack opened his mouth to protest. "You _are_, even if you don't realise it – you've survived impossible things, and you're still here. You are fighting for _him_, whatever you think, and he needs you for that. From what you told us about him, I can hazard a guess he wouldn't be too happy about this current state of mind you seem to be in. And I already like him for that."

The smile widened, splitting Jack's face open and yet somehow growing in sadness with each millimetre that it stretched.

"Yeah…not so sure he'd like you, but there we go."

"Well, then we should at least hurry up and give me the chance to defend myself. Waddaya say to that, Jacky-boy?"

"Sounds good," Jack nodded, his hand creeping to his own shoulder to squeeze the Doctor's fingers. "You still owe me, big time, by the way. But…thank you."

The Doctor stepped forward so that there faces were as close as they could possibly be, gently knocking his forehead against the immortal's in a way that Jack felt inclined to interpret as _affectionate_.

"Any time. I don't leave my friends behind. Not anymore."

"Ahem."

They turned abruptly, breaking apart briskly as they saw that Alonso had pushed open the door, and was now looking at them slightly awkwardly.

"Am I…interrupting anything?"

"No!" both Jack and the Doctor barked at the same time, coaxing a raised eyebrow from the young man who was now standing, hands on hips, facing them. So much like…_no_, Jack thought hurriedly, _don't think like that, not yet_.

"Well, if you're not otherwise engaged," Alonso turned, gesturing with his thumb towards the console. "We're just pulling up alongside. We've found them."

x

x

_Ianto was asleep when he heard the rattling. The whole floor of the ship seemed to vibrate, shaking him out of the lull he'd sunk into, drifting off to the song of the golden beings taking refuge in his head. His eyes flew open, attempting to move, to brace himself, before he once again realised that his hands were bound. _

_Oh yeah. He kept forgetting that. _

_Wriggling slightly, he managed to use the weight of his body to swing himself up, wincing as his throat ached with the remnants of the knife that had been slid across it only the day before. Or was it actually the day before? There weren't any windows, he just fell asleep when sleep took him. Which seemed to be more and more these days – he'd lost track of the time here, finding that it was easier to fall into unconsciousness at the moments when he was alone. _

_He'd even stopped dreaming._

_Maybe it was a survival instinct. Or maybe the golden clouds had gone to work inside his head as well as his body, catching whatever it was that was hurting him and stopping it in his tracks. Or maybe he was just not asleep enough to dream, one eye always cracked slightly open and waiting for the moment when those heavy boots would come clip-clip-clopping towards the room. _

_He stiffened as he heard a sound, a clunking noise which tipped the ship to one side. He scrambled at the floor, gripping only the rough flora that was strewn about him and unable to turn against the tilting that threw him harshly onto his hip. The ship quickly righted itself again, rolling him back until his bound hands crushed painfully between his body and the wall. A short, sharp yelp escaped his throat as he felt something snap, the sound reverberating through his recently healed throat painfully. _

_The sharp throbbing shot through his wrist, travelling quickly from his arm to his brain, and he bit his lip, tearing at the chapped skin so that he could feel blood seeping through onto his teeth. The buzzing in his head grew louder, the loud, echoing singing that had lulled him to sleep now whipping themselves up into a frenzy. He raised his hands to his head, crying out again as the shards of broken bone in his hand and wrist knocked against one another; but that wasn't important, he needed to press his palms against his forehead, needing to push and grind and get some of that pressure to chase away the buzzing. _

"_Go away," he muttered, the vibrations of the buzzing entity flowing down his aching throat and sending tremors through his entire body. "Leave me alone." _

_A harsh, animalistic sound, like a whimper, cut through his damaged lips as his skin and bone began to knit itself back together, the now unseen nanogenes swirling like a trickle of water along the length of his body. Ianto gritted his teeth against the wrenching that shot through him, his skin being tugged forcibly back in place, bones moved roughly and reassembled. _

"_Hurry up," he whispered quietly. "Please…hurry up…" _

_They obviously couldn't hear him, he knew that, but somewhere in his mind he convinced himself that they could, persuaded himself that they sped up frantically, working as hard as they could to fix whatever it was they had to fix. Because they liked him…because they were a kindred spirit…because they __**cared**__. Even though they didn't – they were like robots, doing what they had to do when they had to do, but it wasn't such an attractive thing to think. If he convinced himself they were alive, it gave him someone to talk to. Sometimes he even managed to trick himself into thinking he could hear words in their reply. _

_It was still going mad. But at least, he figured, it was the least lonely way to go mad. _

_Like those footsteps coming towards him. Not the usual cloppings of the madman, no, not like that at all. He almost recognised the tread of one of the boots – remembered it striding purposefully into any situation that faced them. Those heavy boots…_

_And they sounded so real…_

_But they couldn't be real because that was impossible…a fairy tale, even and the one thing Ianto didn't believe in was fairy tales. _

_Ianto felt panic mingling with the pain as he scrabbled backwards, letting out yet another cry as his healing body knocked against itself and the nanogenes bit down in protest._

_So then, he realised as he was unable to banish the familiar footsteps from his mind, this was the first sign of insanity. He'd gone. He hadn't been able to stop it after all. _

x

x

The ship seemed to rock from side to side as Jack took another step forward, his gun tightening in his hand as his eyes took in every detail of the rusted metal body. He could sense the Doctor behind him, followed closely by Rory and Amy – he had been assured that Rory had been a nurse back on Earth, before he had been whisked away by Doctor, and, as much as he would have liked to have embarked on this particular venture himself, he'd been talked into bringing along the Doctor and his two human companions.

There was a sound from just around one of the corners of the poky ship and Jack tensed, releasing the safety catch on his gun and angling the weapon towards the noise.

"We know you're there!" he shouted, all emotion disappearing from his voice, replaced by a cold, business-like tone. Behind him, Amy exchanged a worried glance with her fiancée at the difference, only to be shushed frantically by the Doctor.

"You know?" a figure stepped from the shadows, one hand outstretched, a glinting implement threaded between the fingers. "You don't know a thing."

A shudder ran up Jack's spine, his head flicking instinctively as if he had been pumped full of electric volts. That voice – he remembered it now, from all those years buried beneath Cardiff, living and dying and suffocating, lamenting on what he had done wrong, on what he couldn't change. And those eyes – his own flicked to meet them, recoiling from the coldness that swam deep in that colour. That colour that seemed to flick from green to blue, constantly changing and shimmering, torn between itself; a perfect window onto the soul beneath.

"Gray…" he managed, his gun lowering ever so slightly, if only to disguise the shivering of his hands. The cold tone had disappeared, replaced by a tremulous timbre that was more shocking than the business tone it had replaced.

"Gray…please…"

"Please what?" those eyes swam with moisture, but the face remained composed. "It's your fault. It always was your fault. And then, after all that…" he stepped forward again, the light of the crackling lamp lighting up the object in his hand; a knife, pointed squarely at Jack's heart and already stained a deep crimson. "…you didn't even come to my rescue."

A singular tear fell from Jack's eye as Gray took another, somewhat faltering, step towards him, the knife trembling uncertainly.

"I dug myself out," Gray continued, voice as cold as ever despite his shivering body. "Out of the wreckage of the Hub. It took me hours. I nearly died, and you never came. Again, I waited for you, and you never came. And then I heard about what had happened…it confirmed all I had ever thought, that you really are a monster. You murdered your own grandson…"

A gasp rang out from Amy as Jack flinched.

"…just like you left me to die. Your own brother. And I couldn't let you get away with that, not anymore, I wouldn't let you do that to anyone else."

"You knew we were going to find you," the Doctor's voice rang out, breaking the tense air that crackled between Jack and his brother. "You knew that we would come, eventually, with the Tardis on our side; you didn't try particularly hard to hide yourself. Why?"

"I knew," Gray laughed suddenly, a sharp sound that permeated the air and sent chills through the bodies of all present. "I knew because this is _the _ship. The one that brought you together."

He gestured with his knife between Jack and the Doctor.

"I watched, and I waited, for such a long time. I know _everything_ about you Jack. I know. Because you didn't steal the Ambulance, did you Jack…you found it, floating in space and took it as your own. I only had to trace further back along the timeline to know how to get the right one. And so I always knew you'd find me, eventually, and that this _thing_ would be abandoned. That was the point…"

He took a sudden step back, his whole body tensing before he sprang to the side, darting briskly into a room to his side, opposite the doorway that he had just emerged from. Jack followed him in an instant, the clacking of heels from the Doctor and his companions a dull noise, hardly noticed, behind him.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. The acrid smell of death and blood, metallic and crisp in the air; and then the smell of an unwashed body, of sweat and piss and everything else that represented fear. It would have been animalistic, but it was _human_, in a way that stung in Jack's nostrils and throat. And the floor was decorated crimson, almost as if it was covered in a deep red carpet – it only took one step before Jack realised that it was a hay-like substance, drenched deep in blood.

"Oh God…" he heard a whisper from behind him, masculine but definitely not the Doctor (Rory, then), and he raised his gaze from the blood-splattered floor. Gray had bent down over something that was curled in a ball in the corner, reaching out with the knife and slicing through what Jack realised was a leather strap attached to one of the numerous railings adorning the wall of the ambulance.

When he stood up, dragging whatever it was with him to a standing position behind him, Jack could feel bile rising in his throat.

"Gray…no…please, this isn't his fault…"

"It wasn't mine, either!" that knife pressed against a pale, scrawny throat as blue, dead eyes…_so familiar, oh god, when he saw the light go out of them_…shone past on Jack's, barely aware. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't want this. But I had no choice!"

"There always a choice," the Doctor once again interrupted as Jack stood dumb, gun hand limp and pointing at the floor as he struggled to take his eyes away from the real, physical, living form of the man he had watched die all those months ago. "We are not defined by our hardship, but by how we respond to it."

"I don't know what else to be," the knife was trembling, the shimmering blade nicking at the flesh of the throat and drawing blood. Jack saw those eyes close as the skin was pierced, a gasping hiss sliding from between his lips as he reacted to the pain. He watched as the blue, dead eyes blinked against it, once, twice, before the eyes began to focus for the first time – and then they widened. His mouth began to move, silent words sliding past his lips, of which Jack could only make out a few…_crazy…me…Jack…_

"He loved you," Gray's voice once again pierced his reverie as he took a firm hold of Ianto's waist, tears falling down his face and pooling into the torn material of what had once been Ianto's shirt. "I couldn't make him love me. I wanted to, because you don't deserve that more than me." His tongue flicked out, tracing a gentle line up Ianto's neck and flicking at the lobe of his ear; Jack flinched, more at the way that Ianto showed no discernible reaction to the touch than witnessing the touch itself.

"So you make another choice, Jack…" more tears, flowing down now and choking the words as they cascaded through the open lips. "Me or him. Ten seconds. A bullet through my head, or a knife in his throat. That's the way it works. No easy ways out. I want you to have to dig, like I did, I want you to hurt, and suffer, because even if I die…even now you've got him…that'll still hurt because I _changed _him. Can you do that – kill me for a shadow?"

He laughed again, grinning despite the tears as he pulled tighter, pressing the knife further in to nick at Ianto's Adam's apple; and then he began to count down.

Jack's eyes flickered between the two, wildly, before a cold mist seemed to descend over them; the change was ignited before rational thought could be gathered, before his brother had even managed to reach the fifth number of his countdown. Jack raised his gun hand, ignoring the intakes of breath from the three people at his back as his finger tightened on the trigger.

"I love you, Gray," he whispered, emotion perforating the coldness for a brief second. "And I'm sorry."

And then he pulled the trigger.

x

x

**TBC...**

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_Thank you again for continuing to show interest in this fiction. _

_Your reviews mean so much to me right now, so if you have anything to offer in the way of comments or criticism, please feel free to share them. _


	14. Chapter 13

_A/N: First off, my big news...I GOT INTO CARDIFF UNIVERSITY! So thank you, thank you so much for your continued support, it has meant so much to me over the past few weeks. And, in return, I'll give you some advice; some wisdom that I learnt the hard way on Thursday, when I got my results. Do not give in. Be pig-headed, be stubborn; no matter how much anyone tells you to accept what you have, always aim for what you want. I didn't get my grades to get into Cardiff, and everyone told me to just go to my Insurance choice, but I was dead set - it was Cardiff, or nowhere. So I pushed. Even when they said the grades weren't good enough, even when they said they were full, I just kept on pushing and getting in contact and waving my credentials in their face. And, eventually, five hours after getting my initial results, I got a phone call telling me that they could, in fact, offer me a place. And in one month, that's where I will be. _

_I think that's one of the major themes of this story too. Don't give in. Don't give up. Keep fighting for what you believe in, even if everyone tells you it's hopeless. Because if you don't try, how do you know you can't win? _

* * *

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 13**

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**

A howl pierced the air as a thin trail of smoke curled from the barrel of the gun; a harsh, guttural sound that vibrated through the stifling space of the ambulance and sent a shiver through the four onlookers.

Jack breathed in hard, the air whistling past his teeth as he lowered his gun. Blood splashed onto the floor, new blood mingling with the old as the two figures crumpled to the ground, curled in and around each other as they merged into one heap. The trail of crimson crept out from beneath them, reaching outwards greedily, as if scrabbling at Jack's boot.

Suddenly there was a scuffle from behind him, the pattering of footsteps, before a lone figure pushed past him, hand buried into the inner pocket of his beige jacket.

Rory's nursing instincts had kicked in almost immediately, the training sparking through his synapses as he watched the attacker and his hostage fall, as if in slow motion. Within moments he had crouched down beside the two crumpled figures, placing his fingers just under the chin of the man in the tattered suit…

_No…Ianto..._

He'd always maintained that the only way to nurse was to treat the person, not the injury, and he let the name reverberate through his mind, reminding him that beneath the skinny frame there was a person and a soul…someone who needed his help. He felt a faint thrumming just below the skin, the jugular vein pulsing reassuringly beneath his fingertips. He breathed out a sigh of relief.

"He's alive."

There was a sigh of relief, followed by a worried glance from Jack.

"But, why is he…?"

"I can't make out any injuries," Rory quickly checked the body of the Welshman, pressing his fingers beneath the ragged clothes to discern whether there was anything hidden beneath the surface. "He's been here for months, seeing no one, so I'd wager that the shock's knocked him out. Saves me having to administer the sedative…" he unfurled his fingers, revealing the syringe nestled in the palm of his hand.

There was a sudden groan as the figure entangled with Ianto's body twitched, hand flying up to press firmly against the source of the blood. Jack's hand tightened on his gun as the body moved, the head raised as tears coursed their way down the cheeks; a howl of pain escaped him as he tried to sit up, fingers scrabbling for the knife that had skittered away from him. Jack reacted decisively, stepping forward a kicking the weapon to the side of the room.

Greeny-blue eyes fixed on him, hatred and betrayal swimming in amongst the tears.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he wailed, blood seeping through his fingers as he pushed down onto the wound on his shoulder. "That's what you were supposed to do…I wanted you to kill me!"

"I know," Jack whispered, his head bowed as Gray cried out; eager to move, and yet unable to break through the barrier of pain that Jack had shot his way. "And that's why I'm sorry…I really am sorry."

Gray jerked suddenly as the syringe pierced his upper arm, Rory's well practised fingers pushing down on the plunger and forcing the sedative into his system.

"No…I don't want to…" his eyelids began to flutter as the young nurse removed the needle and massaged the area that had been punctured, encouraging the blood flow from the wound. "Why can't you just do this, for me…just once, think about _me_? I want to die…please…give me what I want!"

Jack shook his head.

"I can't do that."

Gray's lips curled back over his teeth in an animalistic snarl, even as the depressant travelled through his body, shutting down his muscles and slackening his jaw.

"Then…" he hissed, voice slurring as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "…you're so selfish you can't even…what about me…what about _me…_what about what I want…I hate you, it's your fault…s'all your…fault…"

He slumped back against the floor, his pupils rolling softly, serenely to the back of his head as the blanket of the sedative wrapped itself firmly around him. Jack's gun arm loosened the moment the eyelids of his brother closed, the weapon swinging uselessly at his side as watched Rory pocketing the syringe and moving back to the prone figure of Ianto. His hand pressed against his forehead briefly, testing the surface temperature of his skin before he turned, gesturing to Amy.

"Can you bring that blanket?"

Amy scurried forward almost immediately, her eyes wide as she knelt down beside her fiancé and handed him the length of cloth he had given her for safe keeping. She watched intently as he wrapped the blanket firmly around Ianto's body, brushing his hand roughly along the arms in an attempt to get the warmth moving through his veins. Casting a quick glance towards Jack, who still stood dumbly behind them, his eyes piercing and yet unseeing, Amy leant down and brushed a hand gently through the ragged man's brunette hair.

"He's freezing!"

"We need to get him somewhere warm," Rory looked up sharply at the Doctor. "Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded, striding forward from where he had been watching his companions work, his eyes a confusing mixture of sadness, pride, horror and disappointment as he scanned the room.

"We'll get him to the Tardis as quickly as possible," he brushed past Jack, lifting a hand from his pocket and resting it on the shoulder of the immortal. "Jack?"

The man in question jumped.

"What?"

"We need to get your Jones into the Tardis, so Rory can do his thing…which he does very well I might add…" he threw a small smile in Rory's direction. "…always did help to have a proper doctor on board, even if that doctor _is_ only a nurse."

His thumb roved in small circles across the blade of Jack's shoulder.

"We can't get him in on our own…you'll have to take him…"

Jack shook his head hurriedly.

"No. I mean, yes, of course, we get him to Tardis, but you can take him. I know you're stronger than you look…nine hundred years is a long time to build up your muscles, after all."

A nod of the head, and the hand that had been emitting a reassuring warmth through the material of his greatcoat fell from his shoulder.

"Well, you'll have to take your brother, then," the Doctor stepped forward, crouching down and slipping a hand beneath Ianto's neck. He cradled the head of the Welshman tenderly in the crook of his arm, resting it gently and supportively against his chest, before turning back to Jack, who stood frozen to the spot.

"Come on, get on with it."

"I can't," Jack choked and raised his head, a slight dampness misting over his eyes. "I…I'll carry Ianto. You take Gray."

"If you insist," the Doctor shrugged, throwing a quick glance towards Amy as he carefully laid Ianto's head back onto the filthy floor. Jack stepped forward as the Timelord stood up, moving around to untangle Gray's limp body so that Jack could lift Ianto from the floor. With the help of Amy and Rory, he managed to separate the two, taking a gentle hold of Jack's brother and lifting him over his shoulder, taking care not the exacerbate his wound.

He nodded at Jack, shifting Gray's weight slightly to give himself a firmer grip.

"I'll get the Tardis open for you," he said softly, brushing their arms together as he walked past. As the Doctor disappeared around the corner and down the corridor towards the connection point, Jack licked his lips nervously and turned to look at where Amy and Rory were still crouched, fussing over Ianto's unconscious form. They looked up as he approached, backing away to give him access to the prone body of his former lover; Amy hauled Rory up by the arm, sending a small, reassuring smile Jack's way as she led them out of the room, following the path that the Doctor had trodden. Within seconds, the only sound in the room was the combined rhythm of Jack and Ianto's breathing.

Jack crouched down gently, swallowing harshly as he laid a gentle hand against the pale, grubby skin of Ianto's cheek. The coldness of the body shot through him, making him wince, and he reached forward with the other hand, clutching the blanket and rolling the material in between his fingers.

It was too thin.

Shucking the greatcoat from his shoulders and slipping it down his arms, Jack slid one hand beneath Ianto's neck and carefully manoeuvred him into a sitting position, resting against the skin just above his heart. As the young man lolled comfortably against the blue cotton of his shirt, Jack used his free hand to gently wrap the coat around his shoulders, buttoning it at the top to keep it in place across his body.

When he was convinced that the material was hugging tightly onto the contours of Ianto's body, he adjusted his position and slid his free arm underneath his legs, positioning the backs of Ianto's knees in the crook of his elbow before standing and bracing the weight of both their bodies. He stumbled ever so slightly, but there was barely any muscle left clinging to Ianto's body; his whole form seemed to be a jigsaw of jutting bone and cartilage, making him far easier to carry than he would have been the last time Jack had seen him.

Jack had never carried Ianto before, and he'd never envisioned a scenario in which such a thing would occur. Knocking him off his feet and flinging him onto the bed was something they had both engaged in under various circumstances, of course they had. But Jack could never have expected that, one day, he would be cradling Ianto's lolling body against him like a child, the face of the Welshman burrowed innocently, vulnerably in the warmth of his chest.

A lump formed briefly in Jack's throat, but he swallowed it down, focusing his attention on the grip of his hands on Ianto's body, on the distribution of Ianto's weight across his arms, and the constant beating of Ianto's heart, reassuring Jack that he was still with him, if only slightly. He turned all his attention to the mission: _get Ianto to the Tardis_.

All things considered, he was doing the detached thing pretty well.

And then Ianto had to go and ruin it by opening his eyes.

x

x

_The eyes were blue. _

_Not the deceptive blue that the madman had had – not that blue that might have been green, and that shone every time he twisted in the knife or forced himself on Ianto, or any of the other things he had come up with over the long months. _

_No, these eyes were a dull blue, a blue that might have been grey if it weren't for the fact that they were…blue…_

_Ianto blinked as he tried to focus, the humming of the golden beings ricocheting through his skull as he sharpened his senses and tried to ascertain where he was. He could feel his head was pillowed against something warm, a deep thrumming echoing through the material and combining with the singing of the golden beings. It was comforting, he realised, comforting in a way that the nanogenes in themselves had never been able to be. _

_The eyes swam into focus again, wide and determined, infused with a tragic sadness that Ianto knew he had seen before. He suddenly remembered hearing those footsteps, those footsteps that had been so familiar and yet so distant – and he'd been so convinced that they weren't real, that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. _

_But there was something so real, so solid about this. He could feel warm hands curled beneath his abdomen and below his knees, fingers gripping tightly to his body and clothes; and yet, they were soft at the same time, as if they were afraid he might break. Gentle breaths were huffing out on to his hair; he could feel the individual strands at his scalp moving and knocking against one another, his skin hypersensitive as his vision once again blurred. The breath stuttered ever so slightly, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus his gaze on the insides of his eyelids before opening them once again. _

_This time he could see the eyes clearly, see the moisture that outlined the edges of that deep, deep blue…that real blue. Something small and wet dropped silently onto his cheek, sliding along the line of his jaw and pooling in the corner of his mouth. He felt something his heart stutter as he tasted salt on his tongue, his eyes fixing with a fierce intensity on those blue irises. _

_He wouldn't quite have believed it, but then he felt that heavy coat hanging from his body, each strand, each thread, smelling, reeking, __**stinking**__ of those bloody pheromones._

_Maybe he wasn't going mad after all. Because this was so real…so, so, so fucking real that he could feel a lump rising in the depths of his throat. _

_Jack. _

_It was Jack._

_The madman has said over and over again that Jack would never come, that he didn't care, and he had come so, so close to believing it. A part of him hadn't wanted Jack to come. At least, locked in here, with the straw and the madness and the blood and the golden cloud that buzzed in his head…at least here he always knew what was going happen. It had become almost a comfort, some sort of solace – the madman would come and then he would hurt, that much at least he knew, that much at least he expected._

_If Jack was here, then everything was going to change. He realised that, and a bolt of pure terror shot through him, more fear sparking through his brain than he had experienced for a long time. _

_A part of him had drained away with each droplet of blood that was spilt. He had felt it happening. There was still something in him, he knew that, but there wasn't much left. He knew that there was still enough of him left to feel ashamed…because Jack didn't want him like this. More than that – __**he **__didn't want himself like this. And whilst he was here, whilst he was a play thing, he hadn't had to acknowledge that. He wasn't __**him**__…he didn't have to face whatever he had become. _

_But now…now it was reality…and, oh God, he didn't want to be this…_

_He closed his eyes briefly, just for a second, just to bat away the tear that he could feel gathering painfully in the corner of his vision. _

_When he opened them again, there was a very different pair of eyes staring at him. _

x

x

A yawn stretched Rory's features as he checked his watch, gripping tightly, expertly onto Ianto's wrist as he counted the gentle thrumming beneath the pads of his fingers. His eyes watched the clock hand as it brushed past the thirty second mark, the silent tally in his head unfurling as he released Ianto's arm and sat back in the chair. The chest of the young man, now swathed in both the deep blue coat of their elder companion _and_ the full-bodied duvet of the bed, rose and fell gently, the subtle hiss of air ringing through the room reassuringly.

It was a sound that Rory had always associated with life.

Footsteps entered the room behind him, the door clicking gently shut as the individual tried their level best not to wake the man in the bed. Rory turned slightly, smiling as best he could as the slim figure of Amy walked towards him; she neared the bed, leaning quietly over to brush a single lock of hair away from where it had fallen into Ianto's fluttering eyelashes.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, falling once again into nurse-mode to fill the awkward silence. Amy's hand fell away from Ianto's brow as she turned sharply to face him.

"Do I look like I'm okay?" she hissed quietly, a fire burning brightly in her eyes.

"No."

"Then why did you bother asking?" she perched defiantly on the edge of the bed, her fingers playing with the material of her skirt as refused to look him in the eye. Rory froze for a second, watching her, before he reached over and grasped her stiff fingers in his hand.

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see him…he's all we've been focusing on for months, I had to see him."

Rory nodded.

"You've seen him now," he muttered softly, giving her hand one final squeeze before returning to his patient, picking up the damp cloth on the bedside table and dabbing it gently onto Ianto's forehead. "Why are you still here?"

She blinked, confusion and indignation clouding her features.

"Because I want to be…I can be here if I want to be."

"Amy," Rory sighed. "I can't help you deal with this. I'm used to treating old women with gammy joints, I can't tell you what we're supposed to be doing here. I can't help you."

His focused on his work, a tiny droplet of water running down the side of Ianto's cheek as he applied pressure to the cloth, intent on soothing and reassuring his patient, even if it was unlikely his patient could feel it.

"You should go and talk to the Doctor. He'll know what to do."

"Yeah, well," she tossed her hair slightly, running her hand through the tangled locks. "I don't want to talk to the Doctor. I want to talk to you. And anyway, he's busy, at the moment."

"With Jack?"

Amy nodded.

"He's not listening. Says we should get back to Cardiff as soon as possible – as soon as he's back on his feet, he wants us to get him back and stick him a hospital. Give him a pill, or something, to make him forget. The Doctor's trying to talk some sense into him, but he won't listen. I don't think he's listened to anyone for a very long time."

"And you would relate to that, wouldn't you?"

Amy chose to ignore the comment, leaning forward in and resting a hand further along the edge of the bed so that she could comfortably peer at its occupant.

"God, he looks so tiny. So _young_…how could Jack just think of abandoning him like that, in this state? What would happen to him?"

"Well," Rory's voice was emotionless, matter-of-fact, as though he was deliberately keeping something locked in his chest. "In this state…mental hospital, drugs, possibly sectioned. Not many people are going to be able to help him, not out of this."

"And how is he?" she turned back to Rory, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "How is he, really?"

"As good as he's going to be. Physically, apart from a bit of malnutrition, he's fine. We won't know the full extent until he wakes up," Rory fixed her with a smile. "But I'll do my best."

"He's better for having you," she smiled back, noting that her's, like Rory's, probably didn't quite meet her eyes. "Plus, he's strong, he'll get through it."

"Amy," Rory shut his eyes, for once unable to take any comfort from her boundless enthusiasm and optimism. "Back in Leadworth, we've had soldiers come through the hospital. Simple injuries, back to physical perfection within days…but there's always something missing. And they're as strong as they come, and yet…" his words became faint, as if he was unable to continue his sentence.

"Hey," she dragged herself closer, putting her arm around his shoulders. "You might be a complete and utter idiot, and a bit of a lousy time traveller, but you're a good nurse. Don't forget that."

Rory looked up at her.

"What do you want?"

"What?"

"You're trying to be nice. What do you want?"

She slapped at the back of his head, and he grinned as he dodged her airborne fingers. Reaching up, he managed to catch hold of her wrist and brought it to his lips, planting a very unattractive, sloppy kiss to the back of her knuckles. It wasn't particularly the action of a dashing romantic hero, and he was painfully aware of the fact that he'd slobbered ever so slightly over her hand, but she smiled anyway.

And then she stopped smiling, her attention focused completely on the figure swathed in the duvet. Her eyes widened ever so slightly as her hand fell from Rory's shoulder and rested onto the bulky figure.

"Rory?"

His eyes followed her's, fixing on the sight of the twitching man. Standing up abruptly, he removed the damp cloth and threw it to the side, resting the palm of his hand on Ianto's cheek and feeling the heat rising from the skin. The eyelids flickered abruptly, the head jerking away from Rory's touch as the heavy duvet was pushed away, revealing painfully pale, yet unblemished, skin.

"Rory, what's happening?"

Rory ignored her for a few more seconds, placing a hand on Ianto's forehead and looking deeply into his face, fixing intently on the twitching muscles around his brow and eyes sockets. The eyelids flickered a few more times before shooting open, fixing him with one of the sharpest, fiercest gazes Rory had ever experienced in his life.

"Amy," he whispered softly, placing a bracing hand on the young man's shoulder as those eyes continued to search his own. "You need to get the Doctor."

He turned, catching her eyes briefly before returning his focus to the man on the bed.

"He's waking up…"

x

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**TBC...**

* * *

_Even if you haven't seen the fifth series of Doctor Who, hopefully I've made it clear that Rory was a nurse in his and Amy's home town of Leadworth, before they travelled with the Doctor. _

_Thank you once again for reading, and I hope you'll grace me with some more of your wonderful, encouraging comments! _

**Additional Note: Don't forget that this fiction has been nominated for two "Children of Time" Awards: in the "Angst" category and the "Slash" category. Voting opens on 31st August and closes on September 25th. The address is here: http:/cota(dot)worldsoutthere(dot)com/torchwood(dot)htm. You can also find one of my Drabbles, entitled "Bandaging Wounds" (which can also be found on my FanFiction Profile) nominated in the "Drabble" category. **

**Thank you once again for your continued support and interest! **


	15. Chapter 14

_A/N: Thank you once again for your constant support. I always thought getting to Uni was the hard part, but now I have my hands full with packing, making lists, planning, panicking and getting into fights I can't win with Student Finance. This is, as you might have gathered, my excuse for the late chapter. It was also a difficult one to write, and it took me a while to get it to a point where I was pleased with it. I hope you enjoy it - and I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you, thank you and thank you!_

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x

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 14**

x

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**

"Jack, I want you to think about this – think about it _really_ carefully before you make any decision that you're going to regret."

There was a fire shining from the Doctor's eyes as he spoke, the dark pupils following Jack's pacing form with an intensity that seemed to burn through the thick material of his greatcoat. Jack pushed a hand through his hair nervously, the nails catching painfully at the roots as he struggled to keep his trembling fingers still.

"I have thought about it," he whispered softly, the dullness of his eyes in direct contrast to the Doctor's. "I have gone over it, over and over again in my head, and this is the best way. For everyone. Trust me."

"Hey," the Doctor held up his hands. "I do trust you. Completely and utterly – I'd put my life in your hands. Have done in the past, in fact. But this isn't my life we're talking about. It's his."

Jack's head shot up to fix the Doctor with a glare.

"You think I don't know that, Doctor?"

"I didn't say that," the Doctor sighed, huffing out a breath to waft the stray strand of hair from his eyes. "I'm just not overly convinced that you've got a clear head, that's all. And I don't want you making any decisions you're going to regret."

Jack plunged his hands into his pockets, crossing his arms over his stomach to cocoon himself in the warm fabric. It was something the Doctor had observed a lot of in the past few weeks; a nuance that he'd never seen before, a protective gesture that reminded him more of a frightened child than the Captain he had known so well. He took a step forward slowly, his hands tucked behind his back to disguise the light sheen of sweat developing on the palms.

"I know what it's like to make decisions that you later regret, Jack. Trust me, I know."

Jack looked up so that his eyes were focusing on a spot just above the Doctor's right shoulder, avoiding his direct gaze.

"I have made so many decisions," his voice stuck in his throat, the syllables dull and expressionless as they left his lips. "I've had to do things you wouldn't even believe, and I regret them every single second of my existence. But that doesn't mean that they don't have to be done."

"This doesn't, Jack. You have options here, if you'd just stop and _think_ for just one second about what you're suggesting…

"I try so hard to forget, and I just can't," a glossy film appeared across the grey-blue of Jack's eyes, as if a fog had descended on a summer's day. "If I could forget then it would be easy, and it's not meant to be easy. That's something I've learned. Someone has to be punished, and that someone is me. You have to make sacrifices, and it's better if he never sees me again. Can't you see that I'm thinking about him, Doctor? Not _me_."

The Doctor swallowed hard, watching as the moisture began to gather in droplets at the corner of Jack's eye.

"You think he'll be better off without you," he paused, gauging Jack's reaction. "But you don't _know_ that. It's his decision to make; his life, not yours. So I have to ask the question…are you really being as selfless as you think you are?"

Jack opened his mouth, his eyes flashing, but the Doctor held up his hand with an authority that defied interruption.

"Is it really what's best for him? Pumped full of an amnesia drug and dumped in a psychiatric hospital, with God-only-knows-what damaged or missing or unexplained in his mind? I don't think that you really think that's for the best. Nah ah!" – Jack opened his mouth, only to be once again silence with a flick of the Doctor's hand – "Don't interrupt me. I'm an old man and you should learn to respect your elders."

He reached to his neck, brushing his slightly sweaty fingers against the bow tie as he readjusted the silken material.

"See – I have a bow tie and everything. But, anyway, the point is: I've been around the block a few times, even if this boyish charm does tend to disguise that a bit. And I think I know _you_ more than you give me credit for. So hear me out. I don't think this is about him at all. I think this is about you."

Jack's lips had set into a thin line, the crimson flesh stained white with the pressure of the action. His eyes flicked searchingly across the Doctor's face, his pupils delving deep into his expression as if trying to catch something he couldn't quite hold. A few seconds passed which felt unsettlingly longer than they actually were, and the Doctor found himself rocking on his heels nervously. Eventually, however, Jack's mouth loosened and his tongue flicked out, swiping gently over his bottom lip.

"I tried to forget him, Doctor. Did you know that? He _died_ for me, he gave me _everything he had_. And the one thing he asked for in return was a tiny place in my memory. I couldn't even give him that. I promised him I wouldn't forget and that's the first thing I tried to do."

The Doctor stepped forward, resting a hand on Jack's shoulder before he could pull away.

"That's why I can't…I can't face him knowing that. Hell, he's probably not even him anymore. You heard what Gray said – I get him back and I still lose him. Do you know what that feels like?"

"Yes," the Doctor whispered, his thumb roving in small circles across Jack's shoulder blade. "I do, actually."

"Which is why you'll understand…_why_ I have to do this. Right?"

"Yeah, of course I do," the Doctor's hand fell back, burrowing into his pocket as he turned away. "But that doesn't mean I won't do everything in my power to stop you though," he called over his shoulder, making his way slowly around the console to peer at the ragged screen.

"Now, I'm going to fly us as far away from Earth as possible – just to give you a little more time to think about it. Seems like the kindest thing to do…" his hand came down harshly on a button at the console, fingers twisting nimbly on the silver taps that controlled the navigation systems. "I'm thinking of the Constellation of Balsamatia – it's always good to have a nice rhyme when you're travelling through the darkest depths of space. Plus, it's the ultimate area of recovery, as you know; the best possible place that we can take your Jones to get him back on his feet. You can glare all you want Jack Harkness, but I'm the one with the Tardis, so that means we go where we say. Now shut up and grab that knob…"

Jack raised an eyebrow tiredly, hardly even tempted to catch hold of the innuendo, and the fire in his eyes stuttered as he made his way towards the main console. He glanced at the Doctor, watching him as he danced around the control panel of the time ship like a ballerina on a stage; it was almost artistic, almost beautiful in its elegance. Jack pulled his hand from his pocket, reaching out and brushing the pads of his fingers across the pulsing heart of the ship.

A cough interrupted them gently, and the both turned to face the noise. Alonso was leant against the far wall of the ship, his arms crossed nervously across his chest as he cleared his throat. Jack realised that he had been there all along, hidden away in the corner and witness to everything that and the Doctor had just said. He felt slightly hot under the collar as Alonso stepped forward, the blood gathering in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'd quite like to discuss what you're planning on doing with the Ambulance."

"No, I'm sorry," Jack crossed his arms, coughing nervously. "You shouldn't have had to see that…sorry…"

"It's no problem," Alonso smiled weakly. "You get used to it, after a while. Blending in, being ignored, blocking things out – all comes with the territory really. When you do my kind of job, that is."

Jack felt guilt creeping up on him. He tried to smother it, but this was so similar to something he had experienced before. The last time he'd overlooked someone in the background, the last time he'd made that mistake…

"I just needed to ask – can I have the Ambulance, now that you're obviously finished with it? I was meant to be searching for it, after all, so it'd be great if I could take it back."

"No," the Doctor stepped forward, grinning broadly. "Sorry. Paradoxes and all that jazz – need to fire it out into the world for Jack to find in his past and our future so that he can meet me and then all this can actually have happened in the first place" – he stopped to breath – "luckily, the Ambulance was basically a carrier for the newest development in nanogenes technically. At this point, you see, they're still at a basic point in development, so there were a good few containers in there; transporting them from hospital to hospital for work or experimentation."

He turned to face Jack.

"Your brother only opened one container. So we can avoid a paradox here. You'll still find the Ambulance, it'll still hit London, and your whole history will still play out as you remember it. All problems avoided."

"Yeah, well," Jack shrugged, turning back to the console and bracing his forearms against the throbbing material. "If I didn't know it'd cause a rip in space and time, there's plenty of stuff I'd change. Actually, a rip in space and time sounds quite preferable these days."

He scraped a hand over his face, deliberately avoiding the look that passed over the Doctor's face. There was an intake of breath as the Timelord registered his words, his hands burrowing in his pockets and his teeth sinking painfully into his lips. As the silence progressed, he rocked back on his heels, blowing air from his cheeks as his eyes flicked from the console, to Jack, to the console and then back to Jack.

Luckily, Amy burst through the doors before he was expected to speak; she almost fell into the room, her face flushed and her hair flying like rampant flames around her face. All three of the room's occupants turned to face her, staring impatiently as she doubled over and gripped her stomach to calm her breathing. Eventually she looked up, catching their curious stares as she righted herself and attempted lean nonchalantly on the railing.

"Rory told me to come and get you, Doctor," she nodded towards the Timelord, before turning to Jack. "And I think you should come as well."

With that she turned, leading the way back from the room. Jack and the Doctor shared a quick glance before running after her, Jack catching at her arm and spinning her around.

"Wait…why do you need us?"

Amy caught his gaze, laying a hand on his own where it rested just above her elbow.

"Because he's awake. And you're coming with me, whether you like it or not."

x

x

Rory laid the back of his hand gently against Ianto's forehead, focusing his attention on taking his patient's temperature. It was a lot easier than looking into those eyes, those eyes that he hadn't quite expected to be so sharp; they bore into him with an intensity that was disconcerting, especially when coupled with the stoic silence that accompanied it.

The consistent heat thrummed from Ianto's skin, at just the right level to reassure Rory of the physical health of the young man. His hand dropped to his side, resting against the bed to support himself as he contemplated what to do next. That piercing gaze followed his every movement as he shuffled uncomfortably, his hands wringing in his lap. Eventually he conjured the will power to meet those eyes, almost drowning in the blue of the irises.

"Do you know where you are?" he tried, his fist clenching by his side as he kicked himself for the stupidity of his question. "I mean…do you…?"

He stopped suddenly as Ianto shook his head.

"What? Oh…you don't know? Oh, wait, of course you don't know where you are, I haven't told you. Ah…"

A low mumbling perforated the air as Ianto's lips began to move, the action so minute that Rory had to lean forward to see it. The man on the bed blinked, licking his lips determinedly before trying again, the sound quiet, yet clear, in the silence of the room.

"I'm not…stupid…" he whispered, in a voice that had obviously not been used for a long time.

"No! I know!" Rory ran a hand through his hair, his nails catching at the dull brown follicles. "I didn't mean...that's not what I meant…"

Ianto's eyes searched his own again, noting the uncertainty on his face and the trembling of his fingers. There was something burning in those eyes, something flickering ever so minutely before fading away into the depths of the pupils.

"Not stupid…" Ianto closed his eyes dully, his hand emerging from beneath the sheet to rub weakly at the bridge of his nose. "…just…crazy…"

Rory felt a flip in his heart as that word fell easily from Ianto's lips, those accented vowels tripping lightly over the word that held so many dark implications.

"Crazy?"

Ianto nodded, the movement languid and resigned.

"Why do you think you're crazy?"

Ianto's head flopped to the side as he seemed to take in the sight of the young nurse, his eyes flicking tiredly across his face. The pupils focused on Rory's features, as if testing and judging his honesty. It was a silly thing, but Rory felt as though he was being read and explored from the inside out, every single twitch of his face noted and detailed in the catalogue of Ianto's mind. It was a strange feeling, something that he'd never quite experienced before. He reckoned it had become a vital tool in Ianto's life over these past few months: the ability to read and judge and discern ulterior motives.

But there was something else – a professionalism that told him Ianto had been well-versed in this long before he had found himself on board the Chula Ambulance.

Ianto's tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips.

"Can you hear them, then?"

"Hear what?" Rory's kept his voice as soft as possible; he knew he was walking a precarious tightrope, eager to show his concern for the damaged man but unwilling to patronise the intelligence that obviously still existed behind those eyes. A huff of air escaped Ianto's mouth in what Rory quickly interpreted was an attempt at a laugh.

"See? Crazy. You can't hear them, so why can I?" Ianto turned away from Rory, a slight film of moisture glistening on his eyes. "I tried to hang on, but I couldn't. I couldn't. I should have been able to. I didn't. I was weak."

A single tear fell down Ianto's cheek but his face remained still, showing no sign of the emotion that was swimming through the blue of his eyes. Rory reached forward impulsively, taking a gentle hold of Ianto's hand and squeezing as tightly as he could without causing alarm to the man's sharpened sensibilities.

"Can you look at me please?" he cleared his throat softly as he spoke, instilling as much authority as he dared into his voice. He knew, from his limited experience, that it should be up to the patient to make their own decisions, to give them their own time. At least, that was what he'd been taught – now that he was _here_, it was so much more difficult than he'd ever expected. But, determined to do this as properly as he could, he waited calmly, keeping his grip on Ianto's fingers until the stricken man decided to turn, locking their eyes with that piercing stare.

Rory swallowed, hard.

"Thank you. Now listen to me. You're not crazy. Even if you don't believe me, at least listen. I'm a nurse – I only work in a tiny little village hospital, but I've seen people who are suffering with PTSD. And that's what you've got. I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but trust me when I say that I've seen people who've lost everything they are. That's not you. There's still something left in you, I can see that in your eyes."

He sighed, dropping Ianto's hand.

"Sorry. I know I'm not much good at this, but I'm trying. The least you can do is do the same – try, I mean."

Resting his head on his palm, he looked back into Ianto's eyes, watching once again as they seemed to be reading every single word etched into the lines of his face. Suddenly, that numb face cracked into a small smile, the corners of his mouth stretching as far as they seemed able to go.

"I'll…try."

"Good," Rory smiled back, his lips parting to reveal his teeth as a sense of relief washed over him. "Now…I should probably tell you that you're in the Tardis. I know you know what that is, so I won't try explaining anything that I actually don't understand."

Ianto nodded, the smile remaining stiffly on his face.

"Why…" his voice caught in his throat, and a look of annoyance flushed his features as he swallowed hard. "I mean…why are you here…a nurse?"

"Oh that? That's a long story. Long and complicated and ending in the fact that my fiancée ran off with the Doctor. On the night before our wedding."

Ianto's eyebrow shot up, forming an expression that seemed absolutely right on his features. The action sent yet another wave of reassurance through Rory's heart. _This man, whoever he was before, is definitely still in there somewhere_.

"Oh…" Rory could tell his voice was struggling, scraping against the flesh of his windpipe as he tried to normalise his vocal cords. "We have…more in common…than you might think…"

"Really? Were you…?" he nodded towards the door. "I mean, you and he…?"

The smile fell from Ianto's face.

"No. No. I don't…no," Ianto's eyes began to scan the room wildly, finally settling on the door. "Is he…is he here…?"

"Yes," Rory felt his heart plummet. "I sent Amy – my fiancée – to get him. For when you woke up. Was that wrong? D'you want me to call them, I can stop him from coming if you'd rather he didn't."

Rory stood up and pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers shaking as he hurriedly began to punch in Amy's number. As the digits began to appear on the screen in front of him, however, he heard a soft groaning from the bed. He turned quickly, his hand dropping to his side as he saw Ianto pulling himself up into a seated position. The pale-skinned arms trembled against the weight of his body, however thin he may now be; his muscles obviously protesting the movement after so long in such a confined space. His elbow buckled suddenly, plunging him back onto the mattress with a _thump_. Rory's nursing instinct kicked in once again, urging him to reach forward.

"No!" Ianto croaked, transferring his weight to his other arm as he hauled himself back up. Rory pulled away, his body tensed in readiness as he watched the young man struggle with his own muscles. Eventually, Ianto pulled himself backwards, resting his spine against the headboard of the bed so that his body was propped supportively.

"He sees me…" Ianto breathed, flexing the muscles of his arms experimentally and wincing as they cramped in response. "I'm not lying down."

Before Rory could open his mouth in response, there was a soft tapping on the door, and then a click as the handle was pulled down tentatively. The door squeaked softly on its hinges as it swung inwards, revealing the pale face of Amy. Rory smiled reassuringly at her as he nodded, encouraging her to move forward into the room. She smiled back, propping the door open to reveal the face of the man hovering uncomfortably on the threshold between the rooms, his body swaying and his eyes fixed on the figure between the sheets.

"Jack…"

x

x

Jack heard the voice resonating hoarsely through those accented vowels, the croaked sound sending a shiver through his veins. His body remained frozen in the doorway, one hand braced against the doorframe as he felt the blood in his body thicken, gluing him place like the cement that had encased him back when…well, back then.

_Jack…_

A finger poked into his back, forcing him into the room. He turned around, intent on glaring at the Doctor, but the man in question merely took a firm grip of his shoulders, forcing him to focus everything he had on the figure propped against the headboard.

_Jack…_

"Ianto…" he finally whispered, forcing a smile onto his face. He didn't really know what to say. A thousand words tumbled furiously in his brain, swirling wildly like a leaf caught in rapids, but he couldn't grip a single one; nothing would stick, other than those two vowels.

_Ianto…Ianto…Ianto…_

"Jack…" Ianto whispered again, his throat bobbing as he swallowed forcefully. "I have something I need to tell you…something important…"

Jack took another step forward, moving as close to Ianto as he dared.

"You do?"

Ianto nodded, his body as still as granite on the bed; but his eyes, those eyes that Jack hadn't realised he'd missed so much, were pleading with him to take another step, to come closer, to close that gap. But not too close – there was a warning there as well. His feet moved on a whim, obeying that simple instruction, until he was just a foot away from Ianto, craning to hear the strained words falling from his lips.

"I lied."

"What?" Jack could feel himself choking on his own words. "What do you mean?"

"It's pronounced _Splott_," Ianto leaned forward, his arms shaking ferociously with the weight of his body. "Not _Sploe._ I just wanted to see…the looks on your faces. I lied."

A tiny smile, almost manic in its suddenness, crossed his features.

Then his eyes closed, and he fell back gently onto the pillows.

x

x

**TBC…**

**

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Here is where I be cheeky and remind you that this fiction is nominated for two Children of Time Awards: in the "Angst" category and the "Slash" category. Information on voting can be found at my journal, here: **http:/mercury-pheonix(dot)livejournal(dot)com/34233(dot)html

_Thank you once again for reading, and please feel free to share your comments regarding this chapter. Was the reunion (what we've seen so far) what you expected? Did it meet your expectations? Are you, like me, disappointed to learn that it really is pronounced "Splott"? _

_Thanks again!_


	16. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: Firstly, thank you to all of my reviewers for your continued patience. It's what keeps me going. Also, a big shout out to any new viewers *waves*. Welcome to my world of ultimate angst. And a big thank you to CrossoverSatellite for giving me the kick up the arse I needed to finish this chapter - your words were succint and heartfelt, and I thank you :). There have been several drafts and rewrites of this chapter - this is, finally, the actual reunion chapter, and getting it to work was very difficult. This is because it felt very in character than Jack and Ianto would struggle to speak about what has happened to them - whilst, of course, this helped me to keep the story in character, it also meant that I was confronted with days of nothing but two men staring silently at each other. Which made writing this chapter quite hard-going. _

_Thank you for your patience, and I hope it was worth the wait. I travel up to Wales on Saturday and move into my Uni on Sunday (and, as excited as I am, I am shitting myself). I am absolutely promising to have the next chapter up by then, because I don't know how frequent updates will be after that. I'll try my best to keep a schedule, but this is a new world for me. I honestly do not know what will happen. _

_Thank you again!_

* * *

x

x

**Served Cold**

**Chapter 15**

x

x**  
**

Ianto's breathing was even, his chest pulsing constantly with a steady _rise-fall_ motion.

Jack rubbed a hand across his eyes as they followed the movement, his pupils moving gently beneath his eyelashes as he took note of every single nuance of the body in front of him. He could hear each breath; the slight whistle of air as it was forced past Ianto's lips sung gently in his ears, travelling through his hair like fingertips. The feeling sent a slight shiver down to the roots of his scalp, his skin imbued with the _life_ of it all.

Jack sighed, his chin resting awkwardly against the backs of his hands as he watched Ianto sleep. His knuckles were knocking uncomfortably against his jaw as he readjusted his position, his fingers clenching against the sheets for some kind of purchase. He was irritable, he knew that; torn between two very different mindsets, the different emotions fighting to take a hold of his body. A part of him wanted to stay like this forever, to avoid the questions and the problems that would arise if Ianto woke up…and yet, the other part of him willed those eyes to open, to end the awkward silence that was hanging in the air.

He'd been assured by Rory that Ianto's body was reacting normally to the trauma it had suffered; his mind was exhausted and he needed time to recover. Jack knew, deep down, that this was a fair assessment. He knew that he could trust Rory's judgement as a nurse, but he could not fight away that nervous energy that was scratching at the back of his mind. He'd snapped at Rory – _"You think? Can't you be more specific than that?"_ – demanding that concrete reassurance that he knew the young man would never offer to him. He was honest, at least, even if he did have his weakness.

Jack exhaled again, flexing his fingers against the mattress and turning his head.

_Come on_, he willed, his gaze fixing on the gently fluttering eyelashes covering those blue eyes. Ianto's eyelids were closed, drawn like blinds across the one part of him that Jack had ever really learnt to read. Even then, he'd always known it was a language he'd struggled with, a dialect that he'd never really managed to master. Still, he rationalised, surely it was better to have _something_ to go on. Even limited understanding was better than no understand at all.

A sudden movement shook the bed, a slight twitching of Ianto's hand as it lay beneath the covers. Jack's head sprang from where it was rested on the sheets, his back tensed as he watched the movement travel up Ianto's neck, causing the stricken man to jerk violently against the mattress. Without thinking, Jack placed a handle on Ianto's chest, keeping him in place against the pillows.

Ianto's eyes flew open, his pupils wide and dilated as a ripple of pure fear shook through him. Mouth hanging open, fingers clenching against the sheets with such a force that his knuckles stood starkly against his skin, he turned his gaze to Jack. A brief flash of recognition ignited in his eyes, and Jack felt a wave of relief wash over him, ebbing like a calming fluid through his veins…

…only to have it jerked away from him as he realised just why Ianto had stopped moving. The arms that had been tensed had fallen limp against the sheets, his mouth slack and his head tipped back into the pillow; in his eyes was something Jack had never quite seen before, something that shook him to his very core.

_Defeat_.

Jack could see it, bobbing helplessly in his eyes like a body set adrift on the sea. It was such a dull greyness, an expression that clung to his face and seemed to drag him, willingly, to a place that Jack had never before seen him go.

Suddenly, Jack felt as though he understood.

He remembered his time on board the Valiant – all those months stretched out in some macabre religious posture, wrists chained against the walls and his body spread openly. He remembered how he had fought for so long, the hatred and loyalty that burned at his core overpowering the cold, icy waters of defeat. But that hadn't lasted; when the pain and the isolation had grown too much to bear he had shut himself off.

Closing his mind to what was happening.

Abandoned his body to spare his mind.

It was a survival mechanism. His body suffered less trauma if he just accepted the torture that was being inflicted upon him, and therefore he had systematically shut down his muscles, leaving them slack against the onslaught.

Of course, he was not Ianto. The situations were not the same. Jack had no expectations that this was something they would bond over, an experience that they would share and become stronger from the back of it. He had no idea how differently Ianto would be affected by his time stuck on that damnable ambulance, taken constantly to the brink of death before being wrenched back into life.

Jack had had one hundred and fifty years to acclimatise his body to the regeneration process. In a way, he supposed his body had morphed to accept it, to deal with it, however painful it was. And his mind had learnt to deal with the darkness. Ianto hadn't had that – he had literally been dragged back by an alien force beyond his own body.

Jack couldn't pretend to understand, no matter how similar their situations seemed at a purely superficial level.

But that one, small look of resignation in Ianto's eyes told Jack more than he wanted to know. It had been easier to sit back and let it happen; shutting himself off from his body to protect his soul.

And Jack knew who he looked like.

Something caught harshly in his throat, almost choking him. Unsure what else to do, he leant forward, gently brushing a lock of hair from Ianto's eyes.

"Ianto?" he whispered. "It's not…I'm not…"

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.

"Ianto," he tried again, as firmly as possible. "It's Jack."

At that one syllable something flashed in Ianto's eyes, overriding the look of defeat that had clouded the grey-blue of his irises. He blinked, his eyelids narrowing as his pupils seemed to travel the length and breadth of Jack's face. A journey that culminated with a wide-eyed understanding; completely enveloping his features.

"Jack…"

And then that understanding was replaced by yet another emotion.

Shame.

x

x

Jack had seen it.

That jaw line and those lips had seemed achingly familiar as his eyes had flown open, drinking in the sights and sounds too quickly to process. And he'd thought that that recognition must be because – well, must have been because it was that self same mouth that been sending all those words into his brain for these past few months.

And he'd reacted in the way that he had taught himself to react. Because that was what he did – order, system, that was what he liked, and if he was going to be tortured then he was going to have something, some kind of reaction. Something that he _did_.

And Jack had seen it.

Seen that moment when he'd given up, that moment when he'd willingly relinquished control of his body. It had been easier that way, so much easier – but he didn't want Jack to see that. He didn't want anyone to see that. If Jack saw it, then that meant it was real. That meant he had to accept himself like this.

He wasn't ready to do that. He didn't want it. He hated it. A deep sense of shame flushed through him and he forced himself up onto his elbows, pushing his body from the sheets with a force that his muscles couldn't quite contain. Pain shot through his arms and back, his head spinning as his elbows seemed to collapse beneath him, sending him plummeting back onto the sheets.

Jack reached for him, catching him before he could fall, easing him back into an upright position.

"Hey," he heard that accented lilt fall from those lips, each word reminding him of a time when…when what? He didn't even know anymore.

"Your body needs to rest, you need to let yourself recover…"

"No!" Ianto felt the word bolt from his chest like a bullet from a gun, the sound harsh and sharp against the quiet of the air. He flicked his eyes towards Jack, noting the surprise that hovered over his expression before being expertly covered. His eyes closed briefly, his chin dipping as he swallowed and tried to string a few words together in his mind.

"If I stay here…" his eyes opened again, catching Jack's gaze intently. "…if I stay here, then that means…I don't know…I…I have to get up."

"Ianto…"

"Dammit, Jack!" his fingers curled into a fist, thumping the sheet with an anger than he couldn't place…oh, he was so angry, so fucking _furious_, he just wanted to…

"No!" he shouted again, letting Jack support his full weight as his palm flew to his temple, kneading roughly against his eyes. "Jesus _Christ!_"

He felt Jack flinch against him, the hand at his back tensing until the fingers were digging into his flesh. But, within seconds, Ianto felt them fall back as if pieces of superficial jigsaw were slotting into place. The corners of Jack's mouth were forced upwards as his face fell into an old mask – a mask that Ianto recognised, forming an expression that was emblazoned onto his brain. That mask that meant – _it's not okay, but I'm pretending it is_.

"No, not quite, but you can call me that if you want."

It was a small thing. Something that Ianto had heard Jack say a million times, in various situations. Mostly, it was to cool tensions – after the heat of an orgasm, in the face of an angry police officer, during the deepest depths of a raging argument – to release the sharp, electric crackle that was hanging so dangerously in the air. But here…here it was different. Ianto had never heard Jack sound so desperate – he'd never heard him force the words from his throat like that.

He knew that it was a smoke screen, to cover up their vulnerability. Even as the words floated through his mind, Ianto could hear that gentle buzzing swimming in his brain. That gentle singing weaved its way through his synapses, draining that painful anger from his body and replacing it with a light-headed emptiness.

And, in the face of it all – of the uncertainty, and the words, and the singing, and the anger and hurt – Ianto did the only thing he could.

He laughed.

A great belly laugh that gathered in his diaphragm, forcing itself from his lungs and filling the air with a deep, rumbling sound. The more he laughed, the more laughter he could feel rising up from deep within him.

He didn't know why he was laughing.

It wasn't because he was happy.

It wasn't because anything was funny.

It was more like an expulsion of toxic gases – he was forcing everything from his system, all that anger and that hatred and that venom that had seemed to bubble up from nowhere. Catching in a little bubble of laughter and vomiting it out from deep inside him. His shoulders shook with the force of it, the laughter overtaking the need for air in his lungs – the need to release what was inside was far greater than the need to oxygenate his blood.

He could feel Jack move closer towards him, a hand resting worriedly on his shoulder; fussing over him like a child. Another wave of frustration washed over him, and he wanted to thrash and yell and scream and break every single fucking boundary that he had put around himself, break down that net of submission that he had trapped himself in over these past months.

And so he laughed some more, letting it rip through him violently until he felt his throat scream in protest. The sound scratched against his windpipe, his belly cramping and tightening with each movement. A sharp pain shot through him, and he was suddenly reminded of that knife - plunging into his flesh, tearing into his stomach.

The laughter died in his throat, stopping with a suddenness that caused him to jerk forward. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them to stop himself from falling back.

With a gulp he drew air into his screaming lungs, forcing it down and letting it swirl around his body. He suddenly felt his senses seem to heighten, the feel of Jack's hand on his back stark and bright against his skin. He could even feel the pulse thrumming through the fingers, travelling up the tiny veins at the pads of Jack's fingers and reverberating through the thinness of his shirt.

_His shirt_.

Gathering as much energy as he could, Ianto took a deep breath and kicked the warm duvet from his body. Jack leant backwards, giving him the room he needed as he dragged himself straight, surveying the tattered remnants of his shirt. Bile rose in Ianto's throat as he took it in, noting how the once silvery grey of the waistcoat hung limp from his shoulders, the pristine white of the shirt now a dark, shredded mess against his flesh.

He'd died in this shirt.

So many times…

x

x

Jack kept his hand steady against Ianto's body, his fingers moving in a figure of eight across his skin. A single tear pricked lightly at the corner of his eye, but he blinked it away, keeping his mouth set as he encouraged the air flowing through the lungs of the younger man.

Watching Ianto laugh that had been…well, in a way that seemed macabre and unnatural, the laugh had terrified him. Because Ianto didn't laugh, not like that. He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound bubbling from somewhere deep within himself. Jack had felt it many times before, the vibrations from Ianto's chest slowly reverberating through his body; usually in response to some comment made to break the post-coital awkwardness.

This had been hysterical, almost like a barely disguised scream breaking forth from his lungs.

He should have known that Ianto would never be able to release his tensions, his angers, or his pain in the way that would be the most obvious. Whereas most people would scream, Ianto chose to laugh.

Jack didn't quite know how to react to that.

So, instead, he inched forward onto the bed, perching himself awkwardly as his encircled Ianto's cold body with both of his arms. His muscles were tensed against Ianto's flesh, waiting for some kind of sign that this was what the young man wanted, that this was what he needed…because Jack had _no idea_. And, more than all the deaths he had ever suffered in his long, long life, that was something he feared with an intensity that froze the blood in his veins.

After what seemed like an eternity, he felt Ianto lean into his touch, his head resting absent-mindedly on his shoulder; eyes closed, hands still hooked with a vice-like grip around his knees. His spine had seemed to soften, becoming supple and pliant beneath the warmth of Jack's embrace.

"Jack…" his voice was a whisper, almost too quiet for Jack to hear. The older man swallowed as he loosened his grip ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Ianto's face as those eyelids opened, fixing Jack with a veiled gaze.

"I'm not a child," he wriggled slightly in Jack's hold, using his shoulder to knock Jack's arm away from him.

"I'm sorry," Jack immediately released his hold, letting his arms fall to his side as he shifted his weight away from Ianto. "It's just…I don't know how to do this."

"No," Ianto smiled, something that Jack guessed he was doing only because it took less effort than frowning. "Me neither."

His legs stretched out in from of him, arms unlocking and moving to support his weight as he manoeuvred his way towards the edge of the bed. Jack caught him quickly, placing a steadying hand at the base of his spine as his body seemed to wobble precariously.

"I need to stand up, Jack," Ianto shot him a piercing look, a fire that was almost terrifying burning beneath the cool waters of his eyes. "I have to."

"But I don't think…"

"I don't give a fuck what you think!" Ianto caught himself almost immediately, his hand moving to his chest as he closed his eyes and blew air from between his cheeks. Jack moved away almost immediately, planting his feet on the ground and pushing himself from the bed to give Ianto whatever space it was he needed.

Not that he had any real idea what it was that Ianto needed.

He supposed he never had.

"Sorry…" it was Ianto who broke the silence, raising his gaze to Jack as he shifted, slowly edging his feet over the edge of the bed. "I just don't know. I don't want you to treat me like some kind of invalid, a mental case. I mean, maybe I am an invalid, maybe I am crazy, but I just want…I just want…"

He scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his palm roughly, violently against his eye.

"I just want it to stop. I want these fucking _things_ in my head to go away – I want them to shut up, and I want to close my eyes, and wake up and realise that none of this had ever happened. It would have been so much better, for everyone, if I'd just…if I'd just stayed…"

"No, it wouldn't," Jack sat down softly on the bed, resting a hand on the sheets next to Ianto's thigh; carefully avoiding skin contact. "Whatever else, that's not the solution. I don't know what the solution is. I don't know what to do, but we'll deal with it. We've done it before, after all. Between us both, I would say dealing is something that we've got pretty well rehearsed."

Ianto turned his head to face Jack. His eyes were unreadable, flicking between emotions like a record jumping incoherently between tracks.

"Yeah, I guess," he swallowed, his mouth twisting thoughtfully. "Do you know something?"

Jack blinked, worry and curiosity framing his features.

"What?"

"We should write a book. Or we could go on Jeremy Kyle. Either way, we could make a fortune – at least it'd pay the therapy bills."

Jack let a small laugh escape his lips, experimentally nudging Ianto's shoulder with his own.

"You do that if you want. I really don't need that kind of exposure."

"I'm sure you don't," Ianto leaned into Jack's touch for a brief moment before pulling away again, placing the soles of his feet against the floor and testing his weight. A slight grimace crossed his face as his unused leg muscles complained against the sudden movement, but he pressed harder, letting the pain shoot through his legs and ebb almost serenely through his veins.

"You okay, there?" Jack whispered, craning his head as Ianto scrunched his toes against the floor. Ianto took a deep breath, stretching his legs out in front of him and wincing again.

"I'd prefer not to answer that, if you don't mind."

He placed his foot on the floor once again, flexing the muscles experimentally before putting as much weight onto his leg as he could muster. Jack watched as the pain drained from Ianto's face, his leg placed firmly, confidently against the floor.

Suddenly Ianto glanced down, his eyes roving across the ripped material that adorned his pale skin. Jack followed his gaze, travelling down his body and drinking in the sight before him - noticing, for the first time, just how damaged the outfit truly was. The silvery sheen of the ripped waistcoat seemed to shimmer slightly under the gentle glare of the light, and Jack felt something catch in his throat. It had glimmered like that on the day he'd died, pulsating a deep crimson under the fierce flashing of the warning lights...

Ianto's gaze caught his own slightly awkwardly, and a small smile, a big a lie as he had ever told, twitched uncomfortably at his features.

"Jack…" he whispered, leaning forward and clutching at the hand that was rested beside him on the sheets. "I need to change my clothes…"

x

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**TBC…**

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_Thank you for reading! _

_As another quick reminder: the voting for the Children of Time Awards is still open, but it closes at the end of the month. This fiction has been nominated in the "Angst" and "Slash" categories. For more information on voting, please just pop over to my journal: http:/mercury-pheonix(dot)livejournal(dot)com/34233(dot)html. _

_If you have any comments to leave, please feel free to share. Your comments are the life blood of this story - you have no idea how much they mean to me. _


	17. Chapter 16

_A/N: I am currently sitting in my friend's house in Wales, waiting to head off to my first morning of Uni. I am absolutely shit scared. I've never been this scared in my life. My experience with people is not good, and the thought of being alone with my support system completely taken away is terrifying me. I got this finished last night for you, but was unable to post it because I had to crawl into bed and have a long chat with my mum about how scared I was. I don't know when I'll next be able to update - hell, I really don't know anything anymore. It's all new, and it's all absolutely terrying. _

_I noticed that the last chapter didn't get many reviews (compared to normal). I just want to know, before I go Uni, who is actually still reading this (because I interpret small numbers of reviews as meaning that people aren't reading anymore). If you're still here, could you just drop me a quick line - leave a quick comment. Yes, it's begging, yes, it's shameless, but at the moment I just want to know whose still out there. I need to know that people still want to read this, to give me even more of a reason to sit down and get this thing written, even when I'm at Uni. _

_Thank you so much for your continued support. _

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 16**

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"How about this?"

Jack ran his hand softly over the silken material, letting the pads of his fingers linger over it before he reached forward and plucked it from its hanger. Holding it to his own chest, he splayed his fingers across the front and turned to face Ianto, hope shining from his eyes.

Ianto was leant against the wall, his chest moving sharply with the effort of standing up. One of his hands was pressed against the shimmering wall of the wardrobe, the other holding his shirt together – the buttons had long ago been torn away – across his otherwise naked chest.

"I think this would suit you."

As the sound rang through the unsettlingly large room, Ianto turned his head and let his eyes wander towards Jack, gently flicking from his face to the shirt he held untidily against his torso. A greyness seemed to descended over his irises for a brief second, clouding the deep blue like a mist on an azure sky.

"No."

Jack blinked, his fist clenching momentarily against the shirt at his chest before he regained his composure.

"But…"

"No," Ianto's voice was firm, a slight tremor underlying the harsh vowels. His fist tightened at his chest, mirroring Jack's position of a few moments before. The knuckles grew white as he tensed his fingers around the bunched up material, drawing the shirt taut so that his ribs stuck out awkwardly into the air. Jack could see a slight hint of white skin beneath his nails, shining through from beneath the tattered material as Ianto's fingers pushed through. He swallowed, lowering the shirt from his chest until it hung limply at his side.

"Red's your colour, Ianto," there was a pleading tone to Jack's voice, a helplessness disguised as curiosity.

This was something he had always been assured of, something he had relied on – Ianto liked red. There was a lot that Ianto had hidden from him, and a lot that he had hidden from Ianto, but that was at least one of the truths that had been tangible.

It was a colour that suited him, matching the fiery passion that lay just beneath the calm, cool exterior. It managed to emulate the quiet sophistication of Ianto's mask and his actions; and yet, at the same time, it mirrored the flames that licked just beneath the surface of his skin. And their love for the colour was mutual, something they shared.

Jack had always loved it when Ianto wore red.

Ianto had always loved wearing red.

Of all the things that could possibly be different, that wasn't something that Jack expected to change.

"Ianto," he tried against, repositioning the shirt across his torso in a mock show of strength. "Don't you think that you should just try it?"

Eyelids lowered slowly, tiredly over Ianto's eyes as he pushed himself away from the wall, tightening ever so slightly as he balanced before shooting open to reveal the fierce gaze beneath.

"Not anymore, Jack," he whispered, casting a glance down at his crimson splattered shirt.

Jack followed suit, lowering his eyes to Ianto's chest, his eyes roving across the formerly white material. The deep red of the shirt at his hand seemed to reflect the colour that was spread across Ianto's torso; the shirt was stained as if it had been dipped clumsily into dye, the colour so penetrating that it seemed to have ingrained itself into the very fibres of the material. A blush crept across his cheeks as he dropped the shirt, catching it on his toe and kicking it away beneath the hanging wardrobe.

Ianto sighed.

"Jack, don't…"

"I'm sorry, Ianto, I didn't mean…"

A smile etched itself unconvincingly across Ianto's lips.

"You don't have to be sorry."

"No, I should have known better…if I just opened my eyes…I'm so sorry…"

"Stop it!" a shout echoed from Ianto's chest, bouncing awkwardly from the walls. Jack closed his mouth abruptly, his teeth clashing together with an uncomfortable crunch as he was stunned into silence. Ianto breathed in deeply, the hand that had been clutching at his shirt moving to massage the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry…" his eyes closed briefly as he sucked in another breath. "It's just…don't assume that you know why. People change. Things change. There's lots of other colours in the world – it's no great loss."

He swallowed hard, his finger rubbing softly against his eye.

"It's just…maybe there's other reasons…things just change, you know?"

Jack's head dropped to his chest, his arms crossing in front of him as if to deflect the awkward electricity crackling through the cold air. A few tense seconds passed between them as they refused to meet one another's eye, the floor burning beneath the intensity of their gaze. Eventually Jack gathered the courage to look up, the movement encouraging Ianto to follow suit.

"I won't. You don't have to tell me. Even if I don't believe that that's not the reason…" he held up his hand as Ianto opened his mouth. "Let me finish – even if I don't believe you, I promise that I won't dig any deeper. In you own time – on your own terms. Okay?"

Blue eyes searched his face for a while, scouring the lines of his face for a brief moment before the tense lines on Ianto's forehead relaxed.

"Okay," he nodded, his hand falling back to his shirt to close the gap. "Now, I really, _really _need to find something else to wear. My hand's cramping trying to keep this damned thing together, and this isn't really…" he gestured to the barely-together outfit, his eyes fixing on Jack's pleadingly.

Jack nodded, turning back to the hanging wardrobe and rootling through the various garments hanging from the mottled ceiling. That was one good thing – at least, when the Tardis had rebuilt itself to suit the form of this new Doctor, it had seen fit to keep the vast array of clothing that adorned this room. It was always handy, seeing as the Doctor tended to pluck his companions from the ground without forethought, and definitely without time to pack the essentials.

His reverie was suddenly broken as his fingers brushed against a deep blue shirt, the pad of his thumb running gently along the hem to test the softness of the material. He was quickly assured that the shirt felt adequately silky beneath his skin, the material running softly against his fingers and shimmering in the dim light. He sent up a silent thanks to the sentient heart of the Tardis – once again, at his time of need, she had come running to his rescue. He had always known that she knew what was best.

A small smile graced his lips as he reached forward, gripping the hanger tightly beneath his fingers before drawing it down to their eye level.

"How about this?" he whispered softly, his fingers running absent-mindedly along the silky front of the shirt. "I always did like you in blue. Matches your eyes…" he let the sentence trail off, his tongue flicking out to swipe nervously over his dry lips.

Ianto's gaze caught at the shirt, drinking in the colours and the shimmer of the material. Whatever Jack thought of himself, Ianto always had been a more accomplished connoisseur; Jack waited with baited breath for his opinion, a slight worry shooting through him as he considered how different the mindset of the young Welshman now was. Maybe he really didn't know what was best for him anymore.

Perhaps, he thought, Ianto was too changed, too different after his experiences, for Jack to ever be right again. Perhaps the Ianto he knew really was dead and gone, just as Gray had wanted – and all was left was this shell that looked identical to that which he had left behind.

Perhaps it would be better to take him back to Cardiff and…

"I love it," a tiny smile spread across Ianto's mouth, a light momentarily flickering in his eyes.

Jack blinked.

"Really?" he caught himself, hurriedly pushing away the surprised, almost gleeful tone. "You're sure?"

The smile widened – even if it didn't quite manage to meet Ianto's eyes, Jack could see that it was at least as genuine a smile as the young man could muster.

"Yeah…I think so," Ianto let his hand fall to his side, the shirt he had been grasping opening to reveal the pale skin of his chest. Jack averted his eyes as Ianto took a stumbling step forward, focusing his gaze just above Ianto's shoulders and holding the shirt out for him to take.

He kept his eyes away from Ianto's skin as the tattered shirt was slipped from his shoulders, his pale, sun-deprived flesh shining dully in the warm glow of the light. After all this time, he really didn't know where he stood with Ianto; after what he knew to have happened, after what he had _seen _happen to him…

Eventually, Jack could see the swirl of white and red transform into a steady blue. He raised his gaze to see Ianto buttoning the last hole, just below the stark white of his neck, a look of silent contentment on his face as he surveyed the fresh material that now swathed his body. He looked up, eyes catching Jack's as he smiled.

"Thank you."

"For the shirt? Don't thank me, thank her," Jack patted the wall of the Tardis fondly, feeling a tremor run up the length of his arm in reply. "It's her wardrobe."

Ianto shook his head.

"I didn't mean for the shirt."

"Oh…_oh…_" Jack swallowed thickly. "Well, I wasn't sure what you…so I didn't…"

"I know. Thanks," Ianto adeptly buttoned his cuff, the skill as fresh as if he had been doing it every day. "But…you didn't have to…I wouldn't have minded if you'd looked."

Jack's eyes widened minutely for a second, an uncharacteristic nervousness twitching at the muscles of his face.

Jack Harkness wasn't thrown off guard very often.

"Oh…ah…" he coughed suddenly, turning back to the wardrobe. "Now, we'll need to find a tie to match, and some new trousers. I'm sure we'll be able to find a jacket as well, just in case you get cold. Then we'll go the main room and…we'll take things slow, yeah?"

Ianto nodded, his eyes shining with a silent gratitude as he moved forward to help Jack in his search.

"Thank you."

x

x

The Doctor's fingers danced lightly over the implements adorning the Tardis console, his feet pattering out a steady rhythm as he skipped from one side to the other.

"The Balsamatia Constellation is one of the most tranquil places in the galaxy," he called out, his fist hammering down onto a large red button. "It's the ultimate place for relaxation and recuperation. Many planetary organisations send their agents there after battle, for their various treatments and spas and mud baths and counselling and flotation and levitations…"

"Don't you mean meditation?"

"No, Rory. If I meant meditation I'd have said it. Now, where was I? Oh yes, levitations and other such things. Their success rate is impressive - 98.25% I'll have you know."

"Wow, specific," Amy scuffed her shoe against the floor, feeling slightly dizzy as she watched the Doctor shimmying his strange dance.

"Yes, well, you're all so vague on that grotty little planet of yours."

"Oi! No mocking the humans whilst I'm here, thank you very much," she sucked in a breath, leaning back against the railing. "So, you think this place will be good for him?"

The Doctor stopped, one hand taking his weight against the console and the other burrowing into his pocket as he turned to face her.

"We can only do so much for him, here," he said quietly, smiling reassuringly at first her, then her fiancé. "No matter how good we are, no matter how much we try, or how many good intentions we have in our hearts – we'll always fall short. I'm an expert in time travel, Rory here is an expert in pulling splinters out of fingers and you…well, kissogram, really?"

"Point taken," Amy bit her lip. "So, this planet. It's safe, yeah?"

"Absolutely. Strict pacifist laws – there's been no conflict within the constellation for tens of millennia. You get thrown out if you so much as throw a dirty look, let alone a punch."

"Well, I won't be there long," Rory stepped forward, his hands his pockets as he shook a loose strand of hair away from his eye. "Seeing as I have you lot to put up with. But, anything that'll help, y'know? I'm feeling sort of - " he tested the word out on his tongue – "_inadequate_, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Amy bounced forward, a reassuring smile on her face as she took a hold of his hand. "But, as far as inadequate goes, I'd rather have you than anyone else."

Rory held her gaze, mirroring her smile softly.

A cough startled them, breaking through the brief moment of eye contact.

"So you're just going to hold me prisoner, then?"

They turned as one to face the slightly-annoyed expression on Alonso's face. Something that Amy would have sworn was a blush crept momentarily across the Doctor's face.

"Oh! Well, ah…"

"No, I get it. You forgot about me. I'm used to it," he held up a hand stepping forward and leaning forward on the railing next to Amy. "Though, seeing as I helped you out, it would have been polite to at least offer me a ride home."

"Well…" The Doctor muttered again, looking slightly sheepish. "I…just thought…that…ah…oh, that you could use some recuperation of your own! How about that?"

Alonso looked sceptical.

"Seriously?"

"Yes!" the Doctor was obviously pleased with how he had dug himself out of the metaphorical hole. "I sort of like having you around. Plus, I bet they never offered you any help after the incident with the Titanic – that's not something that the Shadow Proclamation is particularly proficient at, is it now?

He stepped forward, clapping his hand loudly on the young man's shoulder.

So, Midshipman Frame. How do you feel about sticking around?"

Alonso bit his lip, a battle going on just behind his eyes.

"Well, they didn't help me. Not after…you know…and that was pretty big. You remember; you were there. I suppose I could…but you have to get me back, seeing as this is a Time Machine and everything. I can't be gone too long or I'll lose my job."

"No problem!" The Doctor grinned. "This baby's always accurate…" he held up a hand, quickly quietening Amy's protests. "_Mostly_ accurate, then. She was rebuilding then, Amy, I've explained all this before. Why do you humans never pay attention when I'm talking to you?"

The Doctor huffed, spinning around on the heel of his foot. Suddenly, however, he stopped, his hands falling limply to his sides. The others in the room followed his gaze, their own bodies stilling as they took note of the figures slowly entering the room.

Jack crossed the threshold first; he wasn't wearing his coat and his hands were thumbing nervously at the material of his braces. There was an artificial stiffness to his shoulders, a well practiced arrogance that was attempting to mask the obvious concern on his features. His thumb slipped briefly beneath the brace, flicking against it before reappearing – and then he turned.

Behind him they could make out the slow moving figure of Ianto Jones, his steps slightly unsteady as they struggled to pick out a path to the console. They could see Jack tense his shoulders, deliberately holding himself back against the instinct to support the young man. Amy cast a glance towards Rory, a silent question in her eyes that he couldn't answer.

So he stepped forward.

"Are you…?" he started, only to be silenced by Ianto's piercing gaze. The Welshman concentrated on putting one foot in the front of the other, one hand gripping the rail as he straightened his back; Rory fought back against his training as he watched Ianto grimace. Eventually he raised his eyes again, fixing Rory with a glance that was much softer than it had been before.

"I'm fine."

The lie was obvious to the ears of all present in the room; the tremor in the soft timbre of his voice gave way to the truth. Ianto himself could hear it, as a look of embarrassment and shame blanched his features.

His head dropped to the side, averting his gaze as the silence descended heavily.

The Doctor quickly broke the awkward quiet, the sound of his hands clapping together shattering the tension in the room.

"So…this is the point where I should welcome you to the Tardis and wait for your abject awe at the fact that it's bigger on the inside. But, from what Jack tells me, I'd be getting my hopes up if I expected that from you."

He tried for a smile, quickly dropping it as he realised how false it looked. His gaze swept around the room, catching the eye of each of his companions in turn. It had been a while since the Tardis had felt so full – he remembered the last time there had been so many people crowded together around the throbbing console. The sound of laughter and gentle camaraderie hung in the air, the memory as stark today as it had ever been.

The Doctor swallowed, his hands rubbing together nervously as he refocused his gaze on the young Welshman.

"Anyway. We're headed for the Constellation of Balsamatia. It's the ultimate recuperation ground – used across the universe for those who have suffered trauma. It will give you a chance to recover…"

"I'm not sick," Ianto spat the words into the air, a sudden fire raging in his eyes. "I don't need to recover."

All of the people congregated in the room shivered slightly, taken off guard by the suddenness of the change. Amy looked to Rory, her hand reaching out and squeezing his just behind his back; tucked away where Ianto couldn't quite see it.

"Ianto," Jack stepped towards him, holding up his hands both as a placating measure and to emphasise the distance he was dutifully keeping between them. "We know you're not sick…"

"Then why are you treating me like an invalid?" there was a pleading desperation in Ianto's voice, so removed from the quiet determination of just a few minutes earlier.

"We're just…trying to help…" Jack tried weakly, his voice equally desperate as he scanned Ianto's eyes with his own. Ianto met Jack's gaze, his eyes harsh against the soft, placating look that the older man was giving him. Suddenly he dropped his gaze, squeezing his eyes shut as his chin hit the collar of his shirt.

"I know…I'm sorry…" he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know why I did that…I do know I'm…I just…"

He looked up suddenly, noticing that all the eyes in the room were upon him. A steely determination, only slightly offset by the tremor still ringing through his body, swam slowly into his eyes.

"The Balsamatia Constellation?"

The Doctor nodded.

"Can they help me?"

"It's not so much that they can help you. It's all about self-healing, really, but it's definitely the best place to do it," the Doctor smiled wanly. "They've got a great success rate…98.25%"

"Really?"

A quick nod from the Timelord gave Ianto his answer.

"Well, at least they're accurate. I suppose that counts for something."

Ianto pushed off from the railing, swaying slightly before he caught himself. His eyes followed the contours of the console, coming to rest gently on the monitor hanging just above the array of flashing lights.

"When do we get there?"

A frown suddenly creased the Doctor's features.

"What do you mean when do we get there?" he bounded across the room, catching hold of the doors and flinging them open. A few rays of deep white light shone through into the room; Ianto threw his hand to his eyes, shielding himself from the piercing rays.

"We're already here."

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**TBC…**

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_Thank you for reading. _

_If you're out there lurking, please drop me a quick line, just to reassure me that you're still there. I'm having a bit of a confidence crisis at the minute, as you can tell, and your comments really do help to reassure me. Thank you again. _**  
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	18. Chapter 17

_A/N: Thank you so, so much for your supportive words. Although I haven't had the chance to reply to many, they really have kept me going through my darkest moments in the past few weeks. Starting University was the most frightening thing I have ever done, and my muse completely disappeared the moment I stepped over the threshold into my flat. I cried for a long time, wondered how I would get through it, doubted my own ability - and then I opened my laptop and read your comments. You really helped to pull me together. Gradually I've settled in, and, finally, my muse has crawled back into my head. I feel absolutely content in my place here - in fact, I'm actually on a weekend visit home and I'm missing Cardiff with a ferocity that I never imagined. I'm so sorry that it's been four weeks since my last update, but my head has been working on complete overload. It did give me more time to plan what are going to be a difficult few chapters, and gave me a chance to flesh out just where this story is headed. I have a plan. A cunning plan. So I apologise for the wait, but hope that it will be worth it. _

_Also, this fiction was RUNNER UP in the "Angst" Category of the Children of Time Awards. A huge thank you to all of my readers, my lurkers, my reviewers and everyone who has ever supported me in this fiction. You have no idea just how much you mean to me. Thank you. So much. _

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 17**

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Ianto dangled his legs over the edge of the wooden jetty, watching the water ripple beneath the pale outlines of his feet. He could see the light of the two suns reflecting from the water, framing his toes in a warm, white glow; the heat was palpable, yet soothing, like a hot water bottle set at just the right temperature. His eyelids slid shut for a few seconds, coaxing the warmth through his tense muscles before he opened them again, blinking as the light crawled into his irises.

It was the same light that had struck him almost dumb when the Doctor had flung the doors of the Tardis open, proclaiming their arrival onto this strange world.

At first he'd had to fight against the urge to draw back, to fight against it and burrow away back into the dark underbelly of the time machine. It had felt like a spotlight singling him out, highlighting his presence for all of the cheering crowds to see; making him a model for them to revel in their own schadenfreude. Eventually, he'd managed to put one foot in front of the other, leaving the humming vibrancy of the Tardis and stepping out into a world unlike anything he had quite experienced before.

He'd expected it to be like every psychiatrist or therapist he'd been forced to meet as a child; meddling, intrusive, offering the promise of understanding whilst at the same time threading a lie through each word. He'd expected this world to prod and poke, generally treating him like a specimen in a Petri dish – and yet, that wasn't what it had done at all.

For all he had seen since they'd been here, the planet may as well have been deserted. Whilst he sensed that there _were_ healers of a sort lurking in the background, they kept a steady distance between themselves and the group of strangers, giving all of them the space that they needed. Because, Ianto had reasoned, this planet was adept at giving you exactly what you needed.

He didn't want anyone asking him awkward questions, so they let him be; but he didn't want to be alone, and so they lingered in the background, offering a gentle touch of reassurance with their presence. He didn't want to be reminded of the biting cold of his dark prison, so the suns seemed to emit a comforting warmth; but he didn't want to forget the cold of his home country, so the wind sent a gentle breeze ruffling with an insane familiarity through his hair.

It was all about balance and coordination.

Ianto hated it.

He glanced down at his reflection in the water, watching as his pale face stared back at him from the rippling waves. An inhuman snarl curled at his lips, distorting his face and twisting his features in a way that sent a spiral of fear shooting through the anger in his brain. All this order, all this balance - that's what he used to be like, that was how he'd been before all this _shit_ had stuck a hand in his brain and scrambled his thoughts.

He fucking hated it. Hated every semblance of order and organisation that emanated from this planet. Deep down, he knew that this might be what he needed, but, in this reality, in his _now_, he wanted to reach into the heart of that control and tear into a million pieces. Make them feel as out of control and terrified as he felt every second of his waking existence.

Because it reminded him of that person; that person that he thought he'd been once, that he could still feel scratching inside of him – but who he couldn't quite reach. It reminded him that he wasn't who he wanted to be anymore, and he didn't want to have to accept that. Not yet. Not ever – he didn't _want to be this person_.

A tear gathered quietly in the corner of his eye as he lashed out furiously, his muscles a coiled spring suddenly releasing all its tension. The heel of his foot shattered the pristine calm of the water as if it were crashing against a mirror, sending white droplets flying in every direction and slicing his own pale, distorted image into a million swirling ripples.

"Ianto?"

Ianto started, his foot hanging limply against the surface of the water as the cold droplets clung to his skin. He shivered slightly, wrapping his arms around himself to try and keep in the warmth – subconsciously holding himself together beneath his clothes.

"Are you…?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, angling his head so that he could aim a wan smile at Jack. "I'm okay. I'm good."

The older man looked at him, scepticism twitching at ever muscle of his face. Ianto held his gaze as best he could, well aware that his eyes kept sliding to the side to avert any direct contact. His fists curled at his side as he tried and failed to keep them focused, instead letting them fall to take in the contours of Jack's face; drinking in the sculptured cheekbones, that strong jaw line, those lips that were weathered with experience; never smooth, but beautifully rough and coarse.

A sudden hunger ignited in the pit of his stomach.

He could almost feel those dry lips now, and it sent a spark jolting through his synapses. He remembered the madman's lips, how smooth and gentle they had been all the time, despite everything else that his body had been doing. Whatever else they shared, Jack had very different lips to those of his captor; the same mouth, the same jaw, but very different lips.

Scrambling to his feet suddenly, Ianto drew himself to his fullest possible height and squared himself against Jack. The other man's eyes never left his as he took a step forward, his fists still clenched at his sides hard enough to draw blood from his palm. He could feel the blood seeping beneath his nails, the pain sharp and stark against the gentle serenity of his surroundings. He revelled in it, digging even deeper just to feel another jolt shooting from his palm to his brain.

A small smile, definitely not reassuring judging by Jack's raised eyebrow and hard swallow, spread across his face.

"Ianto…" but Ianto barely took note of the tone in Jack's voice as he inched as close as he could, feeling the heat emanating from Jack's body as his vision tunnelled onto the tongue that swept out to dab nervously over cracked lips.

"Wait...Ianto..."

And there it was, another thing - the way he said that word, the syllables washing into Ianto's brain. The madman had always pronounced his name right, his tongue catching hold of the true pronunciation and using it against him; taunting him with his own name, belittling and demeaning each time they rolled from his tongue. As if he owned everything about him, even his name. Jack, on the other hand, had never been able to work his mouth around the vowels, always giving it that slight lilt that no one else had ever put to it.

Something flipped over in Ianto's stomach again and he took another step, letting his breath mingle with Jack's in the air as his eyes never left that mouth. He was so close he could almost touch him; leaning towards him, lips parted, reaching forward, further, closer, just there…

"I have to go," Jack stepped backward suddenly, twisting his body away from Ianto with a ferocity that belied the seeming calm of his words. Ianto felt every muscle in his body tense, a defensive wave shooting up his spine and clamping his mouth shut. He watched Jack as he took another step, this time to the side, a calloused hand caming up to scrape through Jack's hair as the older man focused onto the wood of the jetty; but he quickly averted his gaze as Jack's eyes moved to linger for a few more seconds on his face, eager to avoid and ignore.

It didn't work. He could still feel the penetrating heat of Jack's gaze, even as he tried to block it out. He didn't know what was in those eyes, but he didn't to look. He couldn't bear the fucking _shame_ of looking into those eyes and seeing - what? Rejection? Pity? Maybe even...disgust?

Eventually, he heard a sigh, and the feeling of being examined fell blissfully away.

"I'll be in the Tardis – the Doctor, Rory and Amy will be just there," he gestured to the figures sitting on the sand of the beach a hundred yards away from them. "They'll make sure that you don't…"

"What? Make sure I don't throw myself into the sea? Make sure I don't wander off and get lost? Or maybe they'll make sure I don't get a splinter. I'm not a child," Ianto spat each syllable, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a petulance which he knew deep down contradicted his words, but which he just could not stop creeping through. "I don't need babysitting."

"I know…I just…" Jack sighed, his hand plunging deep into his pockets a he scuffed his heavy boot against one of the wooden planks. "I didn't mean that."

"Sounded like it."

Ianto crouched down, his eyes fixed on the horizon – carefully avoiding his reflection in the water, well aware that what he would see wasn't something he wanted to lay eyes on. One of his hands reached forward to trail through the current, the salt of the sea stinging the cuts on his palm; he closed his eyes and hissed, revelling in the sharp pain which overtook, just for a few moments, the incessant throbbing in his skull.

He didn't look up as he heard Jack sigh and turn away, his boots clattering heavily against the platform with a stuttered, unsteady rhythm which Ianto wasn't used to hearing from the older man. He kept his eyes closed until the _clop-clop-clopping_ had faded away, prising them open and turning his head to stare dully at the empty space where Jack had been standing a few moments before.

His eyes lingered on the air, imagining that he could see it shimmering around the outline of the absent Jack. A sigh forced its way out of his mouth, the breath shaky as it jerked out of his body; he brought a trembling hand to his face, pinching against the bridge of his nose and massaging his forehead with the pads of his fingers. He was well aware of the fact that he was smearing the blood from his damaged hand onto his face, leaving the tangy, iron smell clinging to his skin.

But he didn't care.

The only thing he was really aware of, save the odd breeze winding its way through his unkempt hair or the waves lapping gently at the jetty, was the single word reverberating incessantly through his muddled brain.

_Fuck…_

x

x

"What do you think that was about?"

Amy crossed her bare arms over chest, leaning back further onto Rory's chest as she watched Jack walking quickly, erratically away from the jetty. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she flicked her gaze to hunched form still perched on the edge of the wooden structure, one hand trailing through the water and the other pushed messily against his forehead.

Rory felt the worried tension travelling through her body and tightened his grip on her shoulders, running his thumbs in small circles across the join between neck and scapula.

"I don't know," he whispered, keeping his nurse's eye trained on the barely-moving figure of Ianto Jones. This was something that he'd been taught briefly during his training when dealing with a vulnerable, possibly mentally damaged patient – get on with your job, but always keep the corner of your eye watching for any signs that there could be trouble. But it was also something that he was doing as a human being; he didn't _want_ to look away, for the completely human fear that one moment of broken concentration could result in them losing the young man.

Amy sighed, snuggling back further and uncrossing her arms so she could wrap her hand around Rory's leg, which was bent upwards by her waist. Her fingers tightened in search of comfort, and he squeezed back on her shoulder reassuringly.

"D'you think we should…"

"No," Rory's voice was firm and decisive, something that pushed a frown onto Amy's face – he was decidedly indecisive, always had been, not to mention barely able to sound authoritative if he tried. It was which had made it so easy for her to wrap him around her little finger; as much as she loved him, she'd been unable to resist manipulating his meek and mild personality.

This was a completely different side of him. Maybe travelling with the Doctor did that to people. After all, saving the world and getting the odd piece of commendation from a nine hundred year old time travelling alien was bound to give you a bedrock of confidence. Her frown morphed into a smile – a tiny smile, diminished slightly by her worry, but a smile none the less.

She could get used to this new side to her fiancé.

"Rory's right," the boyish tones of the Doctor broke through her reverie. She lifted her head, catching his eye as he came bounding from his now-completed sand sculpture (he'd mentioned something about it being a creature from the planet Raxicoricofallopitorious, but she was almost certain that he'd made that up).

Rory looked surprised.

"Um…thank you, Doctor."

"Yes, well, it doesn't happen very often, so we might as well make an occasion of it," the Doctor ignored Rory's dark glare, tipping his head to one side and shaking the sand out of his unkempt hair. "For now, I think, we need to leave him be. Him and Jack; both of them, they need to sort this out on their own. No sense in interfering unless we're wanted, we might end up causing more problems than were there to start with. I tend to do that, you see."

"So we just…what…?" Amy sat up, using her grip on Rory's knee to haul herself forward. "Just leave him? Don't even try and help?"

The Doctor shrugged.

"If he wants our help, he'll ask for it."

She opened his mouth to argue, but the Doctor raised his hands with an authority that didn't allow argument, sending a piercing glare her way.

"When you're feeling pretty annoyed, or upset, or angry, what's the last thing you want? People asking you whether you're alright, am I right?" he didn't even wait for Amy's resigned nod before plunging on with his explanation. "He barely knows us, and he needs to work through it in his own head, by himself, before we even have a hope of getting through to him. He'll just get defensive, or angry, or feel as though we're intruding or trying to take away the control – he needs to be in control. Trust me, I know what it's like to lose control, and it isn't exactly a walk in the park, let me tell you that right now."

He sighed, sibconsciously fiddling with the bow tie at his neck as his eyes fixed on the horizon thoughtfully.

"And I'm a nine hundred year old genius: he's just a human being, after all."

"_He_ doesn't appreciate being talked about behind his back."

The Doctor and his companions jumped as one, turning simultaneously to see the silent, tense figure of Ianto Jones. He stood before them, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze; his shoulders were so tense that they were mere millimetres away from his jawbone, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows to reveal painfully pale arms leading down to vein-poppingly tight fists.

"Ah…"

"Don't bother," Ianto sighed, pushing a hand through his hair and tightening his fingers through the overly-long locks. "I know you didn't mean…forget it. That's not why I'm here…"

He stopped suddenly, the hand fisting his hair tugging harshly at the roots as a tidal wave of unreadable emotion crashed over his features. The three figures watched him silently for a few awkward moments, observing the myriad of feeling playing out on his face like a film on a cinema screen; his mouth opened and closed a few times, sucking in shaky breaths from the tense air, gulping it down as if it wasn't quite getting there on its own.

Eventually, unable to stand the silence anymore, Amy got to her feet. She pushed herself away from Rory's legs and dusted the sand off of her clothes, pausing briefly before taking a gentle step towards the young man.

"Why _are_ you here, Ianto?"

"I…" his mouth twisted, distorting his otherwise very attractive (or so Amy thought) face as he scrambled for the words. "I need…" his eyes looked at her pleadingly, shame mixed in with the helplessness as he recognised, not for the first time, his own limitations. Amy sent him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Are you asking us for help?"

The relief that emanated from Ianto, as she said what he been unable to vocalise, was palpable in the air, exploding between them like a firework. She felt her smile falter, something catching in her throat as she struggled to believe that this man, who looked so much more like a _boy_ than the man he was, was actually five years older than her. Right now, she felt like an elder sister, reassuring a much younger brother. A tear prickled in the corner of her eye, and she sent an imploring glare towards the two men in her life to step in.

"How can we help you, Mr Jones?" the Doctor rushed to her aid, flopping authoritatively down onto a bank of sand and patting the warm ground in between himself and his companions. "Pull up a seat in my office."

Ianto looked sceptical, arms wrapped subconsciously around his torso as he rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. There was a slight twitching at the corner of his eyes which he was obviously oblivious to, his pupils focusing intently on the mound of earth as if it was going to rear up and bite him. Eventually, he seemed satisfied that the bank was not going to attack him. He took a step forward, arms tightening around his middle protectively as he lowered himself down – Amy noted that he had more grace, even in this state, than the Doctor did on his best days.

"I…" his tongue seemed to catch in his mouth, mouth snapping shut and eyes fixing onto the ground. The Doctor gave him a few moments, his forearms resting on lanky legs as he waited for Ianto to speak, a reassuring smile ghosting over his features.

Ianto looked up, catching his eye and drawing a deep breath.

"I don't know how to say this."

"Just say how you feel," Amy cut in, taking back her former position seated between Rory's legs.

"We can take anything," her fiancé added, one arm wrapping protectively, instinctively, around her shoulders. "We won't be shocked – just say what you need to say."

x

x

A huff of air pushed past Ianto's lips at that, the corner of his mouth twitching into a depth-less smile.

"Say what I need, you mean?"

They nodded simultaneously, each of them smiling that reassuring smile that he just wanted to rip straight off their faces. He clenched his fists repeatedly against the sand, pulsing the movement against his thigh as he tried desperately to release the tension that he could feel building in his body. He could sense it bubbling beneath the surface, creeping up his throat and taking a firm hold of his vocal cords as he blurted out:

"I need Jack to fuck me."

The Doctor's smile fell immediately, his lips pursing to form a tiny round shape. He quickly tried to gather himself together, hair flying as he shook his head minutely and refocused his gaze onto the Welshman.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Yes, um…well, I'd suggest…ah…"

Amy rolled her shoulders back, obviously shaking off her own shock at Ianto's bluntness. Quickly, however, she cut in on the Doctor's stuttered ramble and fixed the young man with a sincere stare.

"I think what he's trying to say is: why don't you then?" she waggled her eyebrows in a way that somehow managed to be more reassuring than provocative. "Let him…you know…?"

"He won't," Ianto hissed as his hand snaked outwards, fingers curling into a tuft of grass sprouting from the sand. "He won't come near me; I got too close on the jetty, I tried to get too close, and that's why he left. He didn't want it."

His fingers twisted against the blades of grass, ripping each one separately from its roots. Each tear gave him a brief moment of release, as if he had cut off one of his own synapses rather than destroyed a helpless plant. He had no idea why it was that he was telling them this; but, he realised, it was like a taking a needle to a bag full of water. Once he'd made a tiny hole, it was very difficult to stop the flow from running its course. Sure, he could try (and he was trying) but those droplets would always find a route around his scrabbling fingers – it was easier to just let it come.

"I don't understand why he won't. It's like I'm…I don't know…damaged goods. Not that I thought that would bother him – sex is sex with him, you know what I mean? It's just…sex. And he doesn't want it. He always wanted it – I can't think of a time when he didn't want it, with me at least."

Ianto knew that was a lie; he remembered those cold words echoing through his flat on that night of blood and metal, that night when his life had ended (not for the first time, but he'd not known that then):

_Do you really think I'd be even mildly interested in that now?_

Jack hadn't wanted him that night. Jack hadn't wanted him for months after that, hadn't even cast him a second glance, had pulled away from even the briefest of touches, just like he was doing now…

But Ianto didn't mention that, didn't even let himself think it. He pushed it to the back of his mind, squeezed his eyes shut and let the words fall from his mouth in a hot torrent of syllables; syllables that he couldn't quite understand himself.

"I just need to feel something _else_, and I saw Jack and that was what I wanted. I wanted him to fuck me, because then _I'd_ want it and I could have it_._ It'd be _mine_, something I _asked_ for I thought that it would...make it...I'm sorry..." he moved his hand away from the grass, wrapping a strand of his hair around his index finger and twisting painfully against his scalp. "I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I just…I don't…"

"No, Ianto, that's fine," Amy reached over her husband's leg to lay a gentle hand on his own. "I'm not going to say we understand, but you don't have to explain."

"No, I do," there was a hot tear scorching at his cheek, but it didn't burn him as much as those gentle fingers on his hand – he snatched it away, cradling it against his chest. "When I was with…_him...__he _told me…that Jack didn't…you know what I'm saying? But I always knew that that wasn't right, at least not really...probably not, anyway. But now I think…he doesn't want me."

Amy shot up all of a sudden, nearly knocking Rory backwards with her elbow as a fire raged in her eyes.

"Oh for God's sake, you _boys_," she hissed, glaring at the Doctor and Rory as they tried to stop her. "No, I will say it, so don't you dare _shhh_ me. You're blind, both of you. Do you know that? Why d'you have to be so masculine about it, so oblvious? Is it really that hard to see? He travelled across the universe _looking_ for you, Ianto. How can you think that he doesn't care?"

"He was guilty," Ianto knew that his eyes were cold, that one tear lingering on his cheek the only remnants of his outburst. "He felt guilty, so he tried to put it right. That's what he does, because he's a good person. It doesn't _mean_ anything."

"Ianto, _no…_"

"Stop it," the Doctor sent a long, hard look her way, a warning flashing from his eyes. Ianto watched dully as she snapped her mouth shut, leaning backwards onto her husband's chest and drawing his hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against the knuckles. Something jolted within him as he registered the action. He could remember, vaguely: Jack had done that once…just that once, but still it was _once_…

"Ianto," the Doctor's voice was like a hand gripping his chin, forcing him to look in his direction. "Have you considered that maybe it's not that Jack doesn't want you? Maybe it's because Jack's scared as well."

Confusion burned in Ianto's eyes, creeping in and swamping his brain with a million questions that he couldn't even begin to answer. He shook his head, not quite sure what it was that he was denying.

"No, I don't…"

"Jack's from the fifty-first century, Ianto," the Doctor cut in, sending an imploring look in his direction. "Have you ever been there? No, I thought not. I have, you see, and I've seen the evolution of humankind and your attitudes to…well…_sex_. And it's not the same. Whilst for your spot on the timeline it's a physical connection over much else, for people like Jack it's more of a spiritual thing. Still physical of course, there'd be no fun if it wasn't, but sex was never just sex for Jack. It's about…friendship, companionship, sharing something special with a person even if it's for only one night. It's not necessarily about relationships, it's more free and wide-ranging than that. Is this ringing any bells in there?"

Ianto squeezed his eyes shut; it felt as though the carefully organised drawers in his brain were being rifled through, overturned and generally flung to one side in order to find something _specific_. As though something he'd been certain of was suddenly not-quite-so certain anymore. Eventually, he nodded, casting a cautious glance in the Doctor's direction.

"Good. Now then," the Doctor rubbed his hands together, his tongue flicking out thoughtfully. "I know Jack well enough to realise when he's scared about something, and the way in which he ran away from you just now, Mr Jones, was definitely smacking of fear. I'd put money on him being frightened. Frightened out of his wits, and he doesn't know what to do about it. Not that he'd ever admit it, he always was a complete ego-maniac – it's a Time Agent thing, it must be really. Very distracting. Anyway, I digress. What I'm trying to say is: maybe it's nothing to do with you at all – maybe it's _him_."

The Doctor looked at him long and hard.

"Perhaps, if he didn't care about you, he wouldn't be quite so scared of it all. It's just a thought, but maybe one you should store in that brain of yours and mull over for a while. Whilst you're doing that, however," he stood up, motioning for Ianto to follow his example. "I'd suggest you make your way back to that Tardis and have a bit of a conflab with the good Captain. And I won't be taking _no_ for an answer, because, if I wanted to, I could easily just call the Tardis here and lock you in together. But, because I'm a nice person behind the cold, bow-tied exterior, I'm giving you something of a choice."

He smiled breezily, nodding gently as he watched Ianto scramble to his feet. The Welshman sent a glance in the direction of Amy and Rory, his teeth gnawing incessantly at his lip as he struggled to piece together an answer in his mind. A huge part of him wanted to run away, to refuse, to escape back to that jetty and refuse to move for the rest of his days. But the other part of him, that part of him that knew there was something wrong, something that needed to be fixed, seemed to be winning the battle. He could feel a tugging towards the Tardis, towards Jack, towards doing _something_ productive - because that was what he did.

He was pro-active: he acted, he worked, he chipped away until he got there. That part of him was bubbling to the surface, and Ianto felt an impatient twitching in his muscles to bloody well _do something about it_. But he didn't know how long that part of him would hold out - it would have to be _now_, or that part of him could disappear, cowering, back into the depths of his mind.

Eventually, he came to a decision, blinking furiously to silence all those nagging, contradictory voices flying through his skull

"I like choices," he whispered, a small smile quirking at his lips.

"That's good," the Doctor shooed him away. "Off you go."

The sand felt soft beneath Ianto's feet as he hurried away, sprinting stiffly across the gentle sand dunes towards the Doctor's enigmatic ship. He didn't know what he was going to say – all he knew was that he had to find Jack, to try and get _something_ at least whilst his courage was still hanging on by a tiny thread. The heat of the planet swirled around him, reassuring him as best it could; and, at this moment, at least, he welcomed it. He'd probably hate it again in ten minutes time, but this was the _now_ and that was all that mattered…

Now.

Now, he knew he what he was doing. Now, he was sure of what path he was taking. If only for _now_, but _now _ was all that he had to work with.

The journey was a blur of green plant and golden sands, culminating in that deep, deep blue of the time machine. He flung the doors open, stumbling awkwardly as he crossed the threshold but he held himself upright, seemingly solely with the insane focus that had gripped every inch of his body. This was good, this was order – this was something he _had_ to do, something that was an imperative. His choice, of course, but it was _necessary_. Like those files had _had _ to go in that box; or that artefact had _had _to be filed under that letter; like that bloody alien had _had_ to be confronted...

He could feel his feet striding even faster as the determination gripped hold of him with a ferocious force, propelling him quickly towards the entrance to Jack's room.

His knuckles wrapped impatiently on the door, the adrenaline rushing through his veins like the best kind of high. He could feel his heart thumping with energy, his blood singing in his veins as the lock clicked and the door was pulled open - everything revolved around the anticipation and focus in his mind. He could feel his strength growing with each passing second.

The door was pulled back further.

Every last ounce of his courage drained away in a flash when a face appeared from behind the door.

The flushed face of Alonso Frame.

x

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**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading. Please leave any comments you may have - my muse can barely breathe without them. _


	19. Chapter 18

_A/N: Apologies for another long wait. At least it wasn't four weeks this time, revel in that small comfort! I must say, the reason for this was because this chapter was HARD. It turned into a monster of the thing, almost double the length of any other chapter I have written. There was so much that needed saying, and so much more that I wanted to say. But I feel this chapter ended in the right place, even though there was so much more tingling at the tips of my fingers. This was one of those ones that wanted to go on and on, and you have to put your foot down somewhere. So I hope it will be worth it in the end. I know the next chapter will be even harder - so enjoy this whilst I get down to tackling it. Your writer has plans.  
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_We are only 13 reviews away from 200! I simply cannot believe this. Thank you all so much. Whoever writes me my 13th review gets a special virtual hug with added virtual cookies!_

_You all thought you knew where I was going with my last cliffhanger, didn't you? Well, nothing is ever as it seems...so you can put Jack down now...  
_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 18**

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Jack stretched out on the bed, his toes curling tightly in the sheet. His eyes slid shut, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers pressing violently against that place where nose met forehead; trying to force that dull ache out from just behind his eyes. It was like termites, thousands of them, burrowing deep into his head and gnawing tiny, persistent holes through the very fibres of his skull. And they were too deep to smoke out, no matter how hard he pushed.

He pushed the pad of his thumb harder against his forehead, pressing the nail firmly against his skin; he felt the tip of it pierce downwards, slicing into him and forcing a tiny droplet of the blood from the crescent shaped outline. It stung for a brief moment, the pain sudden and harsh. It wasn't quite sharp enough to override the incessant throbbing in his brain, but it provided a moment of brief, blessed relief. But only briefly.

Because, truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing.

He'd _thought _that he was doing the right thing with Ianto on the jetty. But he'd never really known what Ianto needed, never understood just what it was that he had to do in order to make the man happy. He'd never asked and Ianto had never told him. They'd probably both failed on that part; Ianto wasn't very good at asking for help and Jack was hopeless at second guessing. A part of him felt as though he should take the back seat, give Ianto the freedom he wanted to deal with things on his own. That's what he had done after Lisa, after the cannibals, after the deaths of Tosh and Owen…

A lump formed in his throat as he thought about his two fallen comrades; about his young lover who had stood with a stoic expression at their funerals, only letting one tear fall down his cheek as his colleagues fell apart in each other's arms. _That_ was what he had always done. What he was doing now. And Jack had no idea how to react to that. From experience, he knew that being forced into something you didn't want was not the way to heal; but he also recognised that longing despair, wanting to let it out, to fall apart and hold, touch and _feel_, but not knowing just how to ask for it.

He'd thought it had been the right thing, stepping back and giving the younger man his space; letting him know that he wasn't going to be that threat; that he wasn't going to _push_ him. He'd tried to show a little bit of self-restraint, just to show that he _could_. Why the hell couldn't Ianto see that?

But, then again, maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Maybe Ianto didn't want to be told what to do. Maybe Ianto wanted the chance to prove that he was normal, that he could look after himself. Jack winced as the tiny, moon-shaped cut on his forehead throbbed slightly. After all, he hadn't exactly been begging for care and attention after his experiences on the Valiant. He'd just wanted to get back, to be normal, to do everything as he would otherwise have done – to pretend that what had happened hadn't been as big a deal as everyone seemed to think it was.

That was why he'd never told Ianto what had happened. Because that damned Welshman seemed to feel it was his civic duty to look after him – not in the way that Gwen always had, oh no. He was more subtle. A quiet rock in a stormy sea. Barely visible in the choppy ocean, and yet just high enough above the waves to dig your fingernails into. Sometimes without even realising it was there.

Jack knew, somewhere deep down, that he'd probably never dealt with what had happened for that year. Not really. Ianto had guessed – they all had – that it had been something bad, but they'd never been able to imagine the full extent of it. And he'd never told them. Never would, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth hard enough to send a wave of pain shooting through his synapses.

One hundred and fifty years. Discounting his time buried beneath the soil of Cardiff, that was how long he'd lived his life (give or take a few years). Traditional thought would assume that he'd gained some sort of wisdom; perhaps been given the code to unlocking just why people did the things that they did. But he never even got close. With each passing year, it seemed, Jack felt himself slipping further and further away from his own humanity, growing more and more detached from the people around him than he had ever been. He couldn't hold onto it.

Jack grunted softly and thumped his fist into the pillow beside him, the force of it burying his hand deep into the annoyingly comfortable material. The Tardis had given him his favourite type of pillow; soft and springy, yet firm enough to prop yourself up on. She always knew what it was that people needed. Right now the only thing he wanted was a solid surface to pummel until the skin had been stripped from his fingers. But, of course, that wasn't what he _really_ needed – the Tardis knew him better than he knew himself.

He let out a wry smile, forcing himself into a sitting position and swinging his legs over the bed. Of course she did. And so he asked, as he had done over and over again, reaching out with his mind to feel the warmth of her sentience – _you know what I need, but what does _he_ need?_

And the answer was the same now as it had always been:

_You need to work that out for yourself_…

"Thanks, dear," Jack scraped a tired hand over his face, planting both feet on the ground and stretching until his joints clicked. "But a little more _specific_ would be nice."

He breathed in deep, smelling the salt from the jetty as it clung to his skin; the tangy, pungent fumes drifting up from his pores and catching in his nostrils. His nose wrinkled, trying to expel the sensual memories of his failure from the atmosphere. But it remained stubbornly attached to his body, curling around him in the air and forcing its way into every open orifice.

A shudder ran down his spine as he headed towards the shower, unbuttoning his shirt and flinging it to the ground in a disordered heap. The rest of his clothes followed, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the washroom. Even in this situation, that singular thought – _Ianto would have words_ – crept unbidden into his mind. He shook his head, twisting the tap until the water spewed out in a torrent of heat, engulfing the atmosphere of his quarters in burning steam.

The water gushed over him, smarting at his skin as he stepped into the flow; he took a breath, forcing fiery steam into his lungs and resisting the urge to cough as his chest throbbed in protestation. He could feel the salt washing from his body, replaced with that strange tang of hot water and steam. He grinned into the stream, flicking his hair from side to side and working his hands to make sure every single inch of his body burned beneath the fierce heat of the water.

In a morbid, dangerous way, Jack could almost say that it was like being cleansed. Even as his body protested the attack, he felt as if his skin was being stripped – taken away from him, washed, ironed and put back on his body. Fresh and new. It hurt, but wasn't that the point? He'd always been a soldier – pain was how he dealt with it, how he punished himself, and how he put himself back together. It built character, reinforced shields and strengthened all those barriers he needed to live this life he had been given.

Like the first time he'd had sex with Ianto after he came back from that torturous year. He remembered how he'd taken the anger already existing within the Welshman and cultivated it to his own means, bringing out every drop of frustration and pain and forcing Ianto to fuck him until he felt as though he were splitting in two. It had hurt, hurt like hell, but it was what he had _needed_. It took away some of his guilt.

But, as always, he'd never stopped to think. Never stopped to think that perhaps Ianto would hate himself for that night, and any other night when Jack had used that same technique. It had all been about him – his cleansing, his pain, his guilt. He'd never stopped to think of the repercussions; that maybe, after each night spent that way, the self hatred that Ianto hid so well, even from himself, would grow just a little bit further.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, shattering his reverie and bringing him crashing back into the real world. As knuckles once again rapped against the wood, the vibrations travelling through into the bathroom, Jack was forced into reality; the water suddenly felt intolerable on his skin and he jumped away, reaching blindly to shut off the scalding waterfall burning at his torso.

Whoever it was continued in their incessant assault of the door as Jack scrambled for a towel, wrapping it securely around his waist and running a hand through his hair to chase away any wayward droplets.

"I'm coming!" he shouted, striding towards the door and wrapping his hand around the handle. "What's the…"

"Ah," A tiny blush crept onto Alonso's cheeks as he stood awkwardly, fist poised to knock one more time. His eyes wandered for a brief second across Jack's dripping torso, hand falling to his side to play nervously with the hem of his shirt. He caught himself after a few moments, his gaze flicking to Jack's eyes as the deep crimson colour spread further along his cheekbones.

"If this isn't a good time, I'll come back later…"

"Kid, if you think that I'm going to have a problem with you seeing me in my towel then I _really_ haven't been giving you the right impression," Jack tried for a smirk, opting instead for a weak smile when he couldn't quite force his muscles into position. "Come on in."

He braced his hand against the door, watching absent-mindedly as the young man ducked beneath his arm to enter the room. Shutting the door firmly with one hand, he scraped the other through his sopping hair, forcing a few more droplets onto the floor.

"What can I do for you, then?" he turned his gaze to Alonso. "Did you want anything in particular, or did you just come to stare at me in my towel?"

"No! I…yes…there was a reason…" Alonso looked nervous; he averted his eyes away from Jack's, pacing silently from one side of the room to the other. His arm went to his head, on the verge of mimicking Jack's position before he thought better of it, moving to cup the back of his neck.

"I saw you on the jetty."

Jack's eyes narrowed.

"Oh," he swallowed hard. "And…your point being?"

"My point being that you're not…you know…" Alonso shrugged his shoulders desperately, as if trying to communicate something through the movement. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, knowing full well that the defensive stance gave him an air of intimation; it was something that he'd perfected over the years, to a point where it was effective even if he _was_ just wearing a towel.

"No. I don't know, Alonso. Would you care to enlighten me?"

Alonso scanned Jack's appearance, taking in the fierce tensing of the shoulders and the thinning of his lips. The sudden move to power play on Jack's part seemed to have exactly the opposite effect to the one he had hoped for - the younger man bristled, his back straightening as he took a step towards him.

"You're not doing this right."

"Really? And what is 'right'?" Jack could feel something tickling at the back of his throat, scratching uncomfortably along the length of his oesophagus. Alonso held his gaze despite the harshness in his tone, taking another step forward until he was squared against Jack's body.

"You need to stop pretending like it doesn't mean anything to you. Like you don't…" Alonso stopped, licking his lips as he tried to find the right word "… _care_ about him."

"I never said I didn't…"

"You know what I mean."

Jack sighed, shuffling back onto his heels so that he could lean against the door.

"Alonso, I appreciate what you're trying to do, I really do. But I've said it before – you don't know me."

"And, like I've said before..." Alonso smiled the briefest of smiles as he unhooked his hand from his neck and let it drop to his side. "...I don't have to know you to see that you're hurting. Or what else you feel for that matter. Come to think of it, perhaps it's better to get an outside view – a neutral opinion to get some sense into your head."

A smile mimicking Alonso's – tiny, and not quite reaching high enough to meet the eyes – spread across Jack's face as he regarded the young man before him.

"I could hardly call you a neutral opinion."

Alonso scoffed, a huffing laugh escaping from his lips.

"_That?_ Jack, that was just sex. I could tell the minute I saw you that you were hurting – that you just wanted someone to help you forget, to take your mind off things. A hole, maybe with a sympathetic ear. I've been around a bit since I first met the Doctor, and I've seen a lot of things. I've seen a lot of people like you. But it's only good for one night; it never lasts beyond that. You needed me. I like being needed."

"You too? Dammit, there's a lot of you lot banging around, isn't there?" Jack took a deep breath as his eyes scanned the now-confident features of the man in front of him. "So you took pity on me?"

Alonso nodded, a tiny light of humour spreading into his irises.

"Well, that's embarrassing. And here was me thinking you were such a nice, sweet boy."

"If I wasn't sweet and nice, I wouldn't have taken pity on you in the first place. The line you fed me was pretty awful. Any sane person would have let you down gently."

Jack laughed. It was a genuine sound that rang through the room like a bell, signalling the end of the uneasy tension that had hung between them. Alonso smiled in return, the humour not quite purging the seriousness from his eyes.

"Look, Jack. I don't think you're going to get anywhere unless you drop the macho act. Unless you actually let him see what you really feel. There's nothing wrong with showing him that you're scared – hell, I would be. I think he needs to see that you're struggling as much as he is, because maybe then he'll be more likely to tell you what he needs. And, if he doesn't, don't second guess. Ask him what he needs. What he wants. Let him have his own time, but push him a little bit if you need to. And, for God's sake, don't take him back to Cardiff and pump him full of…that _memory _thing or whatever it is you're calling it. I busted a gut to get you two back together and I'm not going to see you destroy all that because you can't face up to reality. Coz it won't work. Trust me."

The last words fell determinedly from Alonso's lips, his eyes focused on Jack and his tongue flicking out to moisten the dry skin nervously. Silence pervaded the air as the two men stood for a few seconds, eyes boring into one another. That tension that had been briefly dissipated with Jack's laugh seemed to materialise again, sizzling in between them and stifling the atmosphere. Jack could see Alonso's throat bob once, twice, swallowing hard as all semblance of confidence seemed to flee his face. He'd seemed so sure of himself whilst he was speaking, whilst he was making his point, and now that the silence hung heavily between them he could sense it draining from his countenance.

Jack took a step forward, resting his hand gently on Alonso's shoulder.

"You and him, both of you. You're far too young. How did you get to be so wise?"

Alonso smiled sadly, his shoulder ever so slightly rigid, fighting beneath Jack's touch.

"The ship I was working on – when I met the Doctor. It was hijacked. Attacked; they blew a massive hole in the ship. There were thousands of people on board, hundreds of members of staff. Only a few of us survived. The list of survivors didn't even reach double figures. When I close my eyes, I can still see them floating by the window – all white, and stiff, some of them barely alive and still screaming. And there was nothing I could do. They were my passengers and…a lot of them were my friends. I get the feeling we were all meant to die that day and yet somehow…" he shook his head suddenly, eyes closing momentarily. "Let's just say I paid more attention after that. You look at everything differently when something like that happens."

The hand on his shoulder tightened, the thumb roving in small circles across the ridge of his scapula. Alonso lowered his gaze, a flush creeping back onto his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, you didn't want to hear that. I just…" he was silenced as Jack pulled him forward, pressing their lips together softly. Jack's hand cupped the back of his neck, fingers still moving in calm, reassuring spirals along the skin of the younger man. There was nothing in it – it was chaste, almost, as chaste as a kiss from Jack Harkness could ever be; lips pressed together warmly for a few brief, soft seconds before Jack pulled away.

"Thank you," he whispered, a slight moisture gathering in his eyes as he focused his gaze intently on Alonso's face. "You're far too young, but I'm glad…I'm glad that you're still here, for what it's worth."

Alonso cheeks reddened further, a deep flush spreading out as blood pooled awkwardly beneath the skin. Jack could almost feel the heat from his face as he swallowed, smiling hard and taking a decisive step backwards, ducking his body to worm his way out of Jack's grasp.

"That's…" he stopped as a heavy knocking sound echoed from the door, startling both of them. Even though Alonso was no longer in physical contact with Jack, he took another, hurried step backwards, widening the space between them so that he was firmly out of Jack's reach.

"I'll get that," he smiled hurriedly. "Don't want you frightening anyone with your state of undress."

"You weren't frightened."

"No," Alonso conceded, the blush remaining stubbornly on his cheeks as he curled his fingers around the door handle. "But I did take pity on you, remember?"

A quiet laugh from Jack prompted another, slightly wider smile from Alonso. He raised his eyebrow, twisting his wrist as he tightened his grip on the door and yanked it open.

X

X

Ianto's stomach plummeted, faster than he would have thought possible, as he took in the face of the man now staring down at him. Well, he would have been staring down at him if Ianto hadn't been taller; but the Welshman could feel himself shrinking as the eyes widened, his body curling further and further in on himself with each torturous second. He _knew_ that he had more height than the flushed man blocking his way, but knowing wasn't quite enough anymore; there was no certainty in fact, in tangible evidence. At that particular moment, whatever the truth, he _felt_ a lot smaller – and that was all that he registered.

He felt _tiny_.

His fists clenched at his side, a wave if anger flooding through his veins; anger aimed at Alonso for making him _feel_ that way. He _wasn't_ small – why did they insist on making him feel like a child, like someone who was tiny and insignificant? He'd helped save the world, dammit; he'd given his fucking _life_ for the world, and this was what they offered in return? And he'd given it pretty damned bravely, he thought to himself; he'd never complained. He'd wanted to thrash, and scream, and cry as he felt the virus invading his body, filling his lungs and liquefying his insides…but he _hadn't_. He'd taken it with as much courage as a dying man could muster.

He didn't need to be made to feel like this. He wasn't a child. He wasn't helpless.

And he was definitely _only_ angry at Alonso for making him feel so small. That was the _only_ reason his breath began to scrape painfully across his oesophagus; that his heart began to thump loudly against his ribcage and fire spewed through his veins. There wasn't any other reason…he didn't care…

His fingers curled, the jagged edges of his nails digging into his palm. He could feel moisture against the tips of his fingers as he sliced deeper into the skin, reopening the tiny cuts he had inflicted on himself at the jetty. A wave if pain washed up his arm and met his brain, stifling that furious impulse that had overtaken every synapse upon seeing the intruder – and why was he thinking of him as an intruder? He was no more an intruder than Ianto was.

The anger left him with a sudden jolt, his whole body slackening into itself as he felt the fury within him deflate.

Alonso wasn't _trying_ to make him feel small. He was doing that all by himself.

He bit his lip, closing his eyes to try and reorganise the jumble of thoughts and emotions swimming through his mind. It was as if someone had taken the bookshelf of his mind - all neatly organised into a system that _worked for him_ – and tipped it, throwing everything within into disarray. He could feel himself scrabbling through the chaos, trying to grip hold of just what it was that he needed to start putting everything back in order...

...scrap that, it was like someone had knocked over his bookcase _and_ cut out his eyes, leaving him blindly scrambling, his sense of touch not quite strong enough to discern what he needed from what he _really didn't need_.

"Ianto?" Jack appeared behind Alonso, his arm raised up and resting on the edge of the door as he peered at him uncertainly. A few tiny droplets of water clung to his body, gently tracing the outline of his torso as they made their slow, torturous journey down to the ridge of his towel. Ianto felt his mouth go dry as he followed the movement with his eyes, forgetting that the two men were looking at him expectantly.

His captor had been so skinny it had _hurt_. His hip bones had jutted out from his skin, sharp and heavy and knocking hard bruises into Ianto's flesh. He could almost hear the sound of bone hitting bone, the noise echoing through his mind with a fervour that he couldn't quite forget. Couldn't forget unless he could find something to block it…

Jack had never been like that, never been like the madman. He was toned, his bones barely showing beneath a comfortable cushion of muscle. It was as though he had been born that way; a toned Adonis, the firm muscle providing a barrier between pleasure and pain. A strength that wasn't ragged or brutal.

It was taking all of Ianto's stoicism and mind-power to stop him from reaching out and following the trail of water with his finger.

"Ianto."

This one wasn't a question; it was firm, the worry and concern within it grating hard in Ianto's ears. He looked up, meeting Jack's gaze for a brief second.

"I should go," he mumbled, cursing himself as his eyes slipped away from Jack's face. "I just came to…I didn't mean to…"

"I was just leaving, actually," Alonso cocked his head towards Jack, nodding in a way that Ianto immediately interpreted as _conspiratorial_. His eyes narrowed – Jack could keep his secrets, but he'd been damned if they were talking about him behind his back. Making plans for him, just like parents organise the lives of their children.

"No," he snapped suddenly, blocking Alonso's route out of the room. "No, I'll go. You carry on. I'm sure it was more fun than I'll be, anyway."

He turned on his heel, silently cursing himself for the bitter tone that had crept into his voice. It was like he had no control of his vocal cords anymore; he hadn't meant to sound so fucking _petulant_. Like the child that he was trying so hard not to be, the child he was trying to prove to them that he definitely _wasn't_. Because he didn't care. He'd never cared before so why should he start now? He had no claims, no rights, just like his captor had said.

Fingers wrapped around the crook of his arm as he turned, jolting his thoughts and pulling him back. He went with the movement, his whole body freezing as ice cold fear ran through his veins.

_Look at me when I'm talking to you…_

"Ianto, stop it," the voice was firm but gentle; he looked up, meeting the deep blue of Jack's eyes, noting the mixture of fear and concern that was swimming in there. The fear began to dissipate. He missed it a little – fear was something he was used to, a state he had become accustomed to. He almost felt _safe_ when he was scared, because he'd trained himself to deal with it. And the feelings that washed through him as he was forced to hold Jack's gaze were so very alien…

"I'll be going then," Alonso smiled weakly, his eyes flicking towards Jack's for a brief moment. "No second guessing, remember?"

Ianto watched as Jack nodded, his arm tingling slightly beneath the tight, yet gentle, grip that Jack's fingers had around it. He barely noticed as Alonso brushed past him, his vision tunnelled onto the firm set of Jack's face even as the older man drew him forward, shutting the door behind him.

"You're bleeding."

Ianto blinked.

"I…" he raised his hand, noticing for the first time the crimson red that was smeared across his palm; the cuts began to smart suddenly, the pain not providing him with any release or distraction at all. He winced, flexing his fingers.

"I am."

Jack relaxed his grip on Ianto's arm, his hand moving to rest against the ridge of the towel as he stepped towards the cabinet nestled by the corner of the bed. Ianto watched as he rummaged through the drawers, drawing out a white cloth and turning back to face him. Ianto smiled weakly, his hands stretched out before him as though he still couldn't quite believe they were injured.

"For emergencies?"

Jack flashed a quick grin, nothing more than an upturning of muscle.

"What can I say? I'm messy."

He moved towards Ianto, the cloth wrapped around his hand as he reached forward. Suddenly he froze, arm suspended halfway on its journey towards Ianto's injured hand. A fight seemed to break out just behind his eyes, a battle of emotions that the younger man couldn't quite put his finger on; his heart began to thump loudly in his chest as he watched the ongoing battle, as he wondered just what that conflict could possibly be about.

He _wasn't_ pathetic – but he didn't want to be left behind. There'd been a time when Ianto could cope on his own; maybe not happily, but he could survive. That was all he'd wanted for a long time. But if that fight going on in Jack's head was anything like Ianto was concocting in the stewing pot of his deepest fears – then he didn't know how, in this stupid, _pathetic_ state he would cope on his own.

Eventually Jack's eyes seemed to refocus, his gaze flicking to Ianto's face as his fist clenched on the cloth.

"D'you want this?"

Confusion swept over Ianto's face.

"What?"

"I mean…" Jack bit his lips, swallowing hard. "…do you want me to do it, or would you rather do it yourself?"

He held out the cloth, offering Ianto the decision of whether or not to take it. Ianto stared at the towel for a few seconds, his eyes fixed on the slightly grey tinge that permeated what had obviously once been pristine white material. He reached out slowly, grasping the soft cotton fibres beneath his fingers and sliding it from Jack's grasp.

A tiny smile stretched Jack's features as Ianto set to work, pressing the cloth against the cuts on his hand and slowly removing the crimson stains that had crusted across the lines of his palm. He took a step back, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed and watching – Ianto could feel his eyes burning into him as he worked, and he felt himself bristle a little. Jack, however, seemed to sense his unease; he averted his gaze gently, reaching towards the bedside cabinet and fiddling with the intricate mechanics of his Vortex Manipulator.

Ianto watched as Jack worked, his nimble fingers dancing over the tiny wires and buttons that adorned that precious strap. Something tickled at the back of his throat, forcing against his voice-box with such a force that he felt he would gag if he didn't give in to it. He swallowed hard, taking in a deep breath.

"Jack?"

The man in question looked up, his eyes meeting Ianto's with a casual glance that wasn't _quite_ as convincing as he obviously thought it was.

"Hmm?"

"Ah…" Ianto gritted his teeth, pressing the cloth harshly against his palm. "I just wanted to know….you and Alonso?"

Jack frowned, his fingers stilling over the wrist strap in his hand.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I…" he hooked his thumb towards the closed door. "I walked in on you. I'm sorry I wouldn't have if I'd known."

The frown deepened, forehead scrunching tightly as Jack gently placed the Manipulator back onto the cabinet.

"Are you…" Jack licked his lips. "…asking me in a not-so-subtle way whether I had sex with him?"

Ianto jerked slightly, a strand of thread catching at one of the newly formed scabs on his hand. A hiss whistled through his teeth as blood streamed from the opened cut, staining the cloth in his hand.

"Shit…"

"Here, let me," Jack rocked forward onto his feet, reaching towards him. "If that's okay with you, of course."

Ianto regarded him for a brief moment before nodding, holding out his bleeding hand for Jack to take. The older man clasped the underside in one palm, supporting it gently as he took the grey material and applied a firm, consistent pressure against the wound. Ianto's tongue came out to moisten his lips as he watched the movement, noting the tenderness in Jack's actions; it was soft but not patronising, not hell-bent on making him feel like a glass figurine about the shatter at any moment.

He quite liked it.

"So…me and Alonso?" Jack looked at him quizzically, his fingers keeping up the gentle pressure on his palm as his eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. "You were asking…"

"No, I wasn't!" Ianto smiled tightly before returning his gaze to their clasped hands. "I was just…curious. He seems like your type."

"Oh?" Jack mirrored his smile uncomfortably, removing the edge of the cloth to peer at the wound. "And what would that be?"

"I don't know. Breathing?"

Jack laughed, replacing the cloth as a droplet of blood seeped from the sliced skin.

"You always knew how to flatter me, Ianto Jones. I'm glad that hasn't changed…" he stopped suddenly, swallowing as a sad tone invaded his voice. Ianto bit his lip in return, a tense shudder running down his spine as silence pervaded the air. The pressure of Jack's fingers suddenly became oppressive, stifling him almost; he reached forward, gently pushing the hand away and replacing it with his own.

Jack took a step back, crossing his arms across his chest as he handed the control back to Ianto. A wave of gratitude hit the younger man as he tended to his own wound, his eyes flicking from the crusting gash to the sombre, saddened face of the man who had once been his lover.

_Once._

It was a word he took for granted. He had loved Jack with an intensity that had almost descended into hatred; adored him enough to despise him. And it shook him to the core to realise how easily he perceived their relationship to be in the past. _Once_ just seemed like the right word – so much else had changed, so much was _different_, that it didn't take much stretch of the imagination to see that this could never be the same again.

"I didn't, you know," he looked up as Jack's words reverberated through the air. "Have sex with him. Well, I did once – but you were still lost, we couldn't find you. I didn't know what we were going to do. I was frustrated and he was willing. But that was the only time. I don't think either of us wanted anything else."

Jack's eyes flicked to meet Ianto's gaze.

"He helped to save you, you know. We would never have found you without him. For what it's worth, I'm glad we hooked up in the bar that night – because, if we hadn't, maybe I wouldn't have found you again…" he coughed, shuffling on his heels awkwardly. Ianto stared at him for a moment, frozen to the spot.

"So, just now…"

"We were talking…" he coughed again, suddenly becoming very interested in his feet. Ianto narrowed his eyes, a spark flaming in his brain.

"About me?" he hissed; his eyes burned as Jack nodded. "For fuck's sake, Jack! I'm not a child and you're not my parent!"

"I know! That's not…" Jack uncrossed his arms, holding them just in front of Ianto's chest, as if he could somehow hold him in place. "I mean – we _were_ talking about you, but you have to understand. I'm…not doing this right. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't know how to help you. I've spent all this time thinking that I should leave you to it, that it was better if I didn't push you. But I never actually asked you what you want. I should have. Alonso saw that – he was just trying to help, trying to help me help you in the best way I can."

Jack crossed his arms again, rocking back on his heels and holding Ianto's gaze desperately.

"Tell me what you need. Please."

There was a tense beat, the silence hanging uncomfortably in the air…

…and then Ianto hooked his wounded hand behind Jack's neck, forcing him forwards and kissing him as hard as he possibly could.

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**TBC...**

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_So - where will we go from here? How will Jack react? Remember what this chapter has taught you...expect the unexpected! _

_Thank you so much for reading. Let's see if we can't get this fiction up to 200 reviews - my offer of free hugs and cookies still stands!_


	20. Chapter 19

_A/N: This is officially the longest chapter I have written. And I am officially dead. As often happens with these things, I had a different plot entirely planned out for this chapter - it was meant to be lighter, but instead the boys grabbed the plot and dragged it in their own unique direction. As a result, this is definitely a chapter of contrasts. And the deliberate change of atmosphere part way through is deliberate, to illustrate the fragile emotional state that Ianto is in - he's hidden it well so far, but what happens when all that anger explodes? I have had a knock or two to my confidence and my muse this week, which was unfortunate considering that this is also the hardest that I have yet had to write - it was emotionally draining and has resulted in me throwing my hands in the air and proclaiming "I CAN'T DO IT" more times then would actually be healthy. But, as always, we persevere: 7,000 words and many bags of jelly babies later we have a finished chapter._

_I hope you enjoy it._

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 19**

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The world seemed to slow down for a few brief moments; the seconds stretching out inexplicably into lifetimes.

Ianto's lips hadn't so much met Jack's as smashed against them, the force behind the hand at his neck belying the boniness of his frame. Jack realised he should have expected that, as much as he could actually think as Ianto's tongue snaked forward, urgently pressing against Jack's lips and forcing them open. Even in the days after he had lost Lisa, those long days when it had been a struggle to get him to eat - the weight falling rapidly from his body - there had still been an inimitable strength within him that would not be shaken.

Jack's breath hitched in his throat as his eyes slid shut, his body responding to the kiss in the only way it knew now. His crossed arms were pinioned by the weight of Ianto's torso pressing against him, trapped between their two conflicting heats. He struggled for a few brief moments to free them, before conceding defeat and instead flattening his palms out against Ianto's chest – right over his heart.

It was a strange. The _thump-thump-thump_ of his chest was strong, beating wildly against his fingers, reverberating through his skin as the hand at his neck twisted fiercely, pulling him further in. His lungs screamed for air; he ignored their cries as a parent does a petulant child, focusing every thought on the straightness of Ianto's back, the broad width of his shoulders, the fiery warmth pressing against every inch of him…

For the first time since they'd found him, he realised, it truly felt as though they were the same height.

As that thought flashed through his mind, so did another. He remembered a cold room; straw - stained scarlet - breaking eerily against the weight of his boots; a dim light and a huddled body, too faint, barely moving, dead eyes seeking and searching but never finding - not really. And that smell – that smell of his prison, the reek of fear that had burned his nostrils – of blood and vomit and piss and everything, _everything_…

He pushed his hands against Ianto's chest, forcing them apart and gulping air into his burning lungs. Ianto leaned forward, chasing his lips as he struggled to close the distance between them. There was an urgency, a deep need burning like fire in Ianto's eyes; pleading, almost, begging and willing with a desperation and anger that smarted to the touch. But Jack twisted his neck away from that gnashing mouth. He locked his elbows against the weight of Ianto's grappling, gritting his teeth and keeping that gulf of air between them.

Eventually, the flames that licked the grey-blue irises seemed to fade, Ianto's features loosening as he fell slack against the hands at his chest. A blush of deep crimson spread quickly across his face as he realised what he had done; it bathed him in a warm glow of shame as he took in Jack's tense stance, the straight arms and rippling muscles straining against his onslaught.

"I'm sorry," he babbled, lowering his gaze to the side. "I just…"

Jack's hands moved briskly from his chest as he turned to leave, sliding up his body to grip his shoulders and hold him in place.

"It's not you," he whispered softly, hardly thinking of Ianto as he pulled him bodily into a hug. "I'm sorry…it's me."

Ianto's spine froze against him, his whole body tensed at the sudden and unexpected contact. Something in him twitched, a tiny jerk, as if eager to break away – to run, to hide. But Jack didn't let go. He knew that he should. He knew that he should step back; give Ianto this on his own terms, let him take the lead and make the decisions, ask him what _he_ wanted to do. But, at the moment in time, he really couldn't care. It was selfish - he knew that painfully well - but he needed to grab the young man to him - hold him in his arms, feel his heart beating softly against his chest.

It was his way of saying: _don't go_.

He'd never been very good at saying that; he'd always relied on Ianto to read it in his posture, in his actions. Luckily, the young man had always been very good at learning languages. Lucky too, because Jack knew he had never been capable of making that one, simple request.

Apart from that once…

Something sharp hit him, like a razor blade catching him in the stomach. His arms tightened around Ianto, hands moving to rove in circles along his back as he buried his face into the warm skin of his throat.

_Don't go. Don't leave me. Please. _

Warm breath tickled his ear as Ianto sighed, the tension melting from his frame as the unspoken words reverberated around them. Hands rose tentatively – strange, Jack thought, considering the ferocity of Ianto's earlier onslaught – to grasp at his shoulders, pressing handprints into the dampness of Jack's bare skin.

"I'm sorry…" he repeated, his mouth muffled against the hair at the nape of Ianto's neck.

"Don't be," eyelashes tickled against the side of throat as Ianto blinked something out of his eye. "I shouldn't have…the Doctor told me why and I just didn't listen. I just…I needed it, to feel something, to know that…"

He pulled back suddenly, his arms still hooked lightly around Jack's shoulders to keep him in place against him. He swallowed hard, his cheek indenting slightly. Jack knew that sign – when Ianto was nervous, he would chew at the inside of his mouth, pulling his face inwards a tiny fraction. He recognised it now. The familiarity fluttered through him, granting him the tiniest segment of confidence.

"I needed to know…" Ianto continued, his eyes somehow managing to lock with Jack's own and be evasive at the same time. "…that he wasn't the last person who…"

He stopped and closed his eyes.

"Jesus. It doesn't make any sense. I know it's probably too soon, I know that, I just thought…"

Frustration tugged at his brow, pulling it down into a crinkled frown. Jack licked his lips nervously, his hand resting against Ianto's hip – as lightly as a butterfly's wing, the tiniest little bit of contact that he could muster.

"It's different for everyone," Jack managed, pressing his fingers gently along his hipbone. "I thought I knew what was best for you, so I forgot about that. I forgot that there aren't any rules. Not for this. I thought I was doing the right thing, but really I was just…making it worse, or something."

Ianto opened his mouth to argue, to defend Jack even though he knew it was probably the truth – it was an instinctive thing, one which Jack immediately butted aside.

"No. You know it's the truth. Because that's half the problem here. It's me, Ianto. Both of us, we're both part of it. It's two ways, and I never thought about it like that. I…" he swallowed, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck nervously. "I can't have sex with you. Not right now. I just…I just see that place and I know what he did and…he _looks_ like me, Ianto. I think of him as part of me, and the thought of doing that to you…"

"I know," Ianto stopped him abruptly, his eyes fierce. "The Doctor told me."

"The Doctor?"

Ianto nodded, the ferocity of his gaze dying a little in confusion.

"You went to the Doctor for advice about sex?"

A laugh boomed around the room, ricocheting from every corner as Ianto nodded again.

"Ianto, he's nine hundred years old – he can't even remember the last time he got lucky."

The eyes of the young man narrowed as Jack laughed, muscles prickling with each and every note of the sound.

"I was being pro-active," he hissed. "At least I was bloody trying. I forgot you could never do that – you know, be useful."

Jack's face fell, the room suddenly quiet as he pulled Ianto's now struggling form back against him.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I'm sorry," he whispered against Ianto's neck, holding him in what he hoped was a reassuring embrace. "I was just trying to – it doesn't matter, I should have been more serious."

He hummed thoughtfully against Ianto's skin as the young man closed his eyes, relaxing against Jack's frame.

"I tell you what," he said suddenly, pulling back a little to meet Ianto's gaze. "How about we compromise? Y'know - sleep in the same bed, together? But just…sleep. Would that…you know…would that help? Just a little?"

He paused; worry etched onto his features as he watched the slight movement of Ianto's pupils. The Welshman had never been one to think out loud – he'd always been very good at hiding what he felt, not letting his thought processes betray him. Jack wished more than anything that he could climb into those eye sockets and somehow read all that was going on behind.

"Yeah," Ianto spoke suddenly, breaking through Jack's reverie. "I think that would work."

"You _think_?" Jack tried for a smile, the mixture of relief and apprehension evident in the contours of his face. "And here's me thinking you knew everything."

Ianto mirrored the lacklustre smile.

"I do. I just think it's fair to let you do some of the work sometimes."

Another laugh flew from Jack's lips, quieter this time, as he pulled away softly from Ianto and motioned towards the bed.

"How…?"

"Naked," Ianto's voice was determined as his fists clenched, obviously expecting an argument. Jack considered him for a few brief moments before nodding gently, unwrapping the towel from his waist and clambering onto the bed. Worming his way inelegantly under the covers, he turned to Ianto and smiled a smile that was as reassuring as it could possibly be.

It was, he thought, as he watched Ianto's now slightly trembling fingers work at the buttons of his shirt, slightly ridiculous. He could feel a sharp nervousness moving through every cell of his body, stabbing down deep and ricocheting through his bones. His brow furrowed, grateful for the fact that Ianto seemed absorbed in the process of undressing himself; unaware of the tense lines cracking at Jack's face.

_I'm Captain Jack Harkness_, he thought irritably as Ianto shucked the shirt from his shoulders and moved, eyes deliberately focused on the corner of the room, to the waistband of his trousers. _Captain Jack Harkness isn't afraid of sex. _

_But that's the problem…_that sing-song, sentient voice of the Tardis floated down, wrapping him warmly in the words that weren't really words. _This isn't sex_.

His thoughts were interrupted as a heavy weight pressed down onto the bed, legs swinging around awkwardly to tuck themselves beneath the sheet. Seeing him like this, Jack appreciated just how scrawny Ianto really was – his bones jutted out at uncomfortable angles from his skin, ribs protruding from his chest like ruts in a road; unwanted, unsightly, disrupting the smooth flow of the traffic.

His breath hitched ever so slightly.

Ianto had always carried weight better than skinniness – it filled him out, made him look healthy and happy, at least as happy as he could ever be. Jack associated Ianto's fuller look with times when they were…well…as together as they could have been considering the circumstances. Weight made him look older – it made his face match his eyes.

"How do you want to do this?" he whispered softly, tearing his gaze away from the prominent bones of Ianto's shoulders. "I mean, do you want to…"

"I want to touch you."

Jack exhaled, his toes curling up nervously beneath the soft material.

"Okay," he thought for a few moments. "What do you want me to do?"

The young man considered him for a few moments, his eyes travelling from Jack's face to the outline of his body along the length of the sheets.

"Turn over. Onto your side"

Jack complied, resting one hand beneath the pillow and laying the other flat out onto the mattress. He felt movement behind him; slowly, concise, considered movement – exactly the type of movement that he had come to expect from the man laying just beyond his sight. He wanted more than anything to crane his neck and watch, to see what Ianto was doing, but he kept his gaze steady and straight – no pressure, not here. He couldn't give Ianto what he wanted, so they would do _this_, at least, on Ianto's terms.

An arm snaked around his waist, hovering slightly to leave a centimetre of air between them; like a gentle force-field separating them, protecting them from each other. There was a sudden beat, a breath splitting through the air, and then the hand broke through the barrier to rest just below his heart.

Jack relaxed into the touch as Ianto pulled him flush against his back, arm curled around him and face pressed against the back of his neck. It felt strange - Ianto wrapped around him defensively, holding him protectively against him when _he_ was the one who was supposed to be doing that.

_Ianto_ was the victim. By the textbook, he was the victim. Jack should be the one holding _him_ tight, not the other way around.

But then, Jack had to concede as Ianto's breath evened out against the nape of his neck, there never really were any textbooks for these things.

And Jack understood why.

_Victim_ was not a title Ianto was going to take without a fight.

x

x

Rory's feet scuffed uncomfortably against the floor of the time ship as he paced, the muffled sound echoing eerily from the walls around him. One hand rubbed nervously against the back of his neck, the other scrabbling at the material of his trousers as his eyes fixed accusingly on the door in front of him.

He wasn't quite sure how much time had passed since their conversation with Ianto on the beach. Travelling around on this...timeship (the word still made him balk ever so slightly)...had thrown his internal body clock off balance. Even though they were stationed on a world that had day and night, within the ship itself such trivialities ceased to exist. Rory had long forgotten how to distiguish between the start of one day and the beginning of another. But he was hopeful that he had left enough time - at least eight hours, by his watch - for...well...he wasn't entirely sure what for. He balked again as the uncertainty hit him, having to steady himself as he tried to reassure himself that this was _the right thing. _

Eventually, however, he swallowed hard and raised his fist – it hovered for a few brief moments, time seeming to slow immeasurably as he brought it down to rap solidly against the wood of the door.

He didn't know why he was so nervous. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the person behind that door was bigger and considerably stronger than he was. It may even have been the fact that the person on the other side of the door was most definitely more well-built, muscular and handsome than he was. Compared to those chiselled features and sparkling blue eyes, Rory knew that he had very little to offer. He doubted he'd be taken seriously, all things considered.

He'd lived all his life in a tiny village somewhere in the middle of the English countryside. He'd worked as a small town nurse, spoon feeding elderly patients in a hospital and never really moving anywhere in his life. His ears stuck out slightly, his chin was too thin and his nose was certainly long, not to mention the fact that he knew he could definitely benefit from doing a few more sit-ups at the gym. Even now, even after being invited by his fiancée – the fact that he had somehow struggled to actually ask the question himself was another thing he was ashamed of – to join them on their travels, he constantly felt like he was being left behind. It was if, even though he was hurtling through time and space, he still had his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Not really going anywhere.

And the face of the man who now stood before him, wearing the tiniest underwear that Rory had ever seen on a man (not that he could really say he had much experience with men and underwear), only served to remind him of just how little he had to offer. How little he had to offer everyone – but especially her. And he was just waiting for her to realise this…and then she would go…

The man at the door cleared his throat.

"Is there…" he paused, taking in Rory's slightly startled glance. "…something I can do for you? If the Doctor wants to see me surely he can come over himself – or is that beneath him now?"

"Oh…no, no…" Rory clasped his hand together in front of his chest, rubbing the palms against one another nervously. "It was me, I wanted to talk to you. I'm a nurse – wait, you know that. Sorry. So we – I mean, I - just thought it might be a good idea to talk about…"

He stopped suddenly, registering the flash of pale skin that emerged just beyond Jack's heavy frame as something – someone – turned over on the bed. He craned his neck slightly, inching forward a little to get a better glance at that face, just to see if it was who he thought it was. Jack immediately turned his body sidewise to give him the space to look, his gaze following Rory's to rest gently on the lightly snoring figure wrapped in the sheets.

"Oh."

The young man swallowed again as he recognised the gaunt features and dark brown hair – recognised them from when he had tended to them just a few doors away, dabbing at the feverish brow with a damp cloth and looking into those dull blue eyes. He remembered how useless he'd felt, how everything he'd said had been wrong, how nothing he had been able to do had been right for him…

He shook his head, dispelling those thoughts so he could do as he should, as a nurse, rightly do.

Focus on the patient.

"Is he okay?" he asked quietly as his eyes flicking to focus somewhere on Jack's jaw line, something in him not quite capable of meeting his gaze.

Jack nodded.

"Okay as he's going to be. I guess we both are."

Rory's head jerked a little as he stored the information away in his brain.

"That's good. That's very good," he paused suddenly, grappling slightly for the textbook that he'd had to memorise as a trainee, flicking through the pages in his head to try and land on the right one. "Has he had any…episodes? You know: sudden mood swings, violent behaviours, extreme reactions to little things…that kind of thing?"

He faltered slightly as Jack leant casually on the doorframe, well aware that his body was twitching, fidgeting nervously – a complete juxtaposition to the suave, steady figure of the well built man standing in front of him.

"You really came here to ask me that?" the Americanised drawl flowed freely, confidently from those lips, as if the speaker were the most assured individual that had ever set foot in the Universe. But there was something flickering in the depths of those piercing blue eyes, a tiny movement that caught in Rory's observant, objective searchings and shattered the illusion of strength.

"Well," Rory crossed his arms, cocking his head slightly with a confidence born of the realisation that Jack wasn't as strong as he seemed. "No, not really. I came to talk to you about what happened on the beach yesterday. What he told us. I came to ask whether you…but I guess you don't need me to, seeing as you obviously…"

"We didn't."

He blinked.

"Oh?"

"Oh."

Jack licked his lips thoughtfully, casting a glance towards the mercifully still figure on the bed – Rory remembered the fitfulness of the sleep when they had first brought him in, the involuntary twitching and jerking of his muscles - before stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind him.

"I presume you were there, then," he clicked the door in place, firmly but quietly, before turning back to look at Rory. "Ianto told me that the Doctor…that he said that it was me who was having trouble with sleeping with him, not the other way around. You were there?"

Rory felt his mouth drying out ever so slightly, prising his tongue painfully away from the roof of his mouth as he nodded in response to the question.

"Yes. I was there. Why?"

"Because I want to know what to do. If you were there, it's obvious that you were right beside the Doctor, dolling out advice. Even if it was him doing the talking – and we all know how much he likes to talk – I presumed that you'd spoken about it before hand."

He cocked an eyebrow, obviously waiting for an answer. Rory scrambled around frantically in his mind, desperate to find some way of knowing just _where_ this conversation could possibly be headed.

"Well, maybe a little. Yes, we talked about you. I mean, not behind your back or anything, but…"

"I don't care about that. You really think I have a problem with my sex life being discussed? Even if it is an absence of a sex life rather than an actual sex life, but that's beside the point. You're a nurse. Better than that, you're the most grounded person on this ship. The rest of us have got our heads stuck in the stars - some of us have got our heads so far buried in the sand that we're choking. We can't see the woods for the trees. But you can. And I need to know…"

Jack swallowed, the sudden pause breaking into his ramble.

"What would you do?"

There was a slight beat as both men held their breath; Jack obviously hesitating now that the question was out in the open, Rory balking slightly at the weight of the request that had been placed on his shoulders.

"I…I don't…"

"Come on. If this was Amy, what would you do? You love her more than anything, that's painfully obvious. What would you do? Come on, Earth boy, I need some answers here – as much as I hate to admit it, I'm running low on the things at the minute." He chuckled nervously, rubbing at his elbow as if desperate to _do _something with his hands.

"I'm running around in circles. People keep giving me stuff – I should give him what he wants, I should ask him what he wants, but what if I can't _give_ him that? What if the one thing I can't give him is the one thing he always expected of me – not love, not affection, to commitment but just…sex?"

"Ah…well…" a tiny blush spread across Rory's cheeks; he could feel it creeping across the skin of his face, the heat of it spearing his brain and cutting off coherent thought.

"Just…just…_try_."

The skin of Jack's forehead creased, his eyes flashing with a mixture of irritation and disappointment as the words left Rory's mouth.

"Try?" he scoffed, turning his head away and refusing to meet Rory's gaze. "That's all you've got for me. Well, then, I'm sorry…maybe I _was_ expecting too much."

He turned, his spine bristling indignantly towards the younger man as his fingers curled around the door handle, making to re-enter the bedroom.

"He is."

Jack froze.

"What?"

"I said: _he is_," Rory stepped closer to Jack, watching as the clenched hand fell limply from the metal handle. "When he woke up, that first time, before you came in – he was all ready to give up. Told me he was crazy, that there was no point anymore. That there was nothing left. But I told him that the least he can do is _try_ – so that's what he's doing. He's trying, every second of every day, even if he doesn't realise it. You should do the same. At the end of the day, that's all you can do. Both of you. You can't be pushing against each other – you know, trying to do what's best for him, whilst he's trying to do what's best for you, both of you ignoring what you want. I haven't got any other answers."

He swallowed hard, hooking a hand behind his neck to fiddle thoughtfully with the hair at his nape.

"If it was Amy…for one thing she isn't Ianto, so I can't draw a comparison…but if it was Amy, then that is honestly the only thing I could do for her. That's the _biggest_ thing I could do for her. Not to give up on her. You need a compromise, Jack. Anyone can see that you're both as…uh…_damaged_ as each other. Just _talk_. Just…yeah, just _try_."

Rory coughed a little, the effort of stringing together the right words scratching irritably at his throat.

"So…yeah. That's all I've got," he spread his arms, shrugging his shoulders as he did so. "I don't know whether it's what you need, but I can't give you anything else. For God's sake, I'm no more used to this than you are. The biggest thing I did all year before this was supervise during Mrs Jenkins' hip replacement surgery. I'm not cut out for this. I don't know why you all think I am."

He shoved his hands into his pockets dejectedly, the little bit of confidence that had been lurking beneath the surface beginning to drain from his face. He could feel it trickling down his body, every last drop worming its way out of him and pooling at the floor by his feet. There was no reason for him to be able to help – he didn't know why he'd come here in the first place. Yes, someone – he'd thought – had needed to make sure Jack knew what had happened on the jetty. And Amy had reassured him that _he_, the one who had tended Ianto's wounds, the one who been the first to speak to him as he was pulled from unconsciousness, was the right person for the job.

And now he'd failed again. How much longer was he going to have to wait before she realised that the world the Doctor offered her was more spectacular than anything he could give? He wanted it to be them – Rory and Amy – Mr and Mrs Williams - settled down and carrying on with their lives. That's all he could give her. Maybe, he'd thought, if he could prove that he could help Jack, help Ianto, do _something_ useful in the face of all this madness, _then_ she would see. Then she would choose. But now...

"That's why I needed you," Jack's voice snapped him out of his trance. "I needed you because you're not into all this. That's why _she_ needs you as well, even if she doesn't realise it. Not that you have to take my advice, either – but you just keep doing what you do, and she'll get there eventually."

He held out his hand, his arm pushing fiercely through the air as if begging, willing Rory to take it. The young man studied the calloused for a few moments before responding to the movement, clasping Jack's hand in his own and letting it be shaken firmly.

"You're a good man, Rory Williams. And cute, too - in that sort of geek chic kind of way…"

Rory smiled politely, whilst at the same time quickly extricating his hand from Jack's vice-like grip.

"Erm…thanks," he shoved the hand in his pocket, pointedly avoiding looking at anything other than Jack's face. "That's…uh…kind of you. I think. Anyway, you just…"

"I'll try."

Rory smiled reassuringly, watching as Jack's lips curled upwards – like a child mimicking a parents expression, the movement slow and steady as he made sure he was getting it right.

"Yeah. I will too."

x

x

The patter of Rory's feet echoed down the corridor as Jack pushed the door open and slipped through it. He gently closed the door behind him, eyes lowered to his hands and focused on the task of shutting it as quietly as he possibly could.

"Talking about me again?"

Jack jumped as the tight, gruff Welsh vowels split the atmosphere, turning swiftly on his heel to face the source of the noise. Ianto was sat on the bed, his clothes hanging limply off him, obviously only serving the purpose of covering as much skin as possible. There was a frustration burning behind his eyes as he clutched at the fabric; his trousers were open yet pulled to his waist, whilst his fingers fumbled awkwardly with the intricate buttons of his shirt.

"What?"

"You. Talking about me," his finger slipped against the smooth curve of the button, sending his finger jabbing into his chest. "Fuck."

"Ianto…" Jack stopped suddenly, as the man in question shot him a fierce glare. His heart froze for a brief second, all movement within his chest stilling – it was like looking into Medusa's eyes, the coldness within turning his body to stone.

"You talk to everyone else, don't you?" seeming to give up on the task of buttoning his shirt, Ianto instead let it fall open to expose his scrawny torso. Jack winced as he caught a glance of the sickeningly protruding ribs. The sudden movement was not lost on Ianto's, whose eyes narrowed to thin slits.

"What's wrong?" he spat, his tone once again taking Jack off guard as he thought about the way the young man had been curled against him last night; the transformation was sudden, frightening in its unexpected ferocity. "You never minded before. What's so wrong now? You really do find me that repulsive – no wonder you can't even bear to touch me."

"No, Ianto, wait…" Jack leant forward instinctively, his hand reaching out towards the pale shivering frame. Ianto predicated the movement, however, launching himself up from the bed so that he could face Jack from the opposite side of the room.

"You – you keep asking everyone else, talking to everyone else – _what should I do? how do I fix him?_ Like I'm not even there. Did you ever think that maybe, instead of talking to the Doctor, or to Rory, or God forbid to Alonso, you should perhaps, just possibly, have asked me first?"

Jack balked at the accusation in the tone, guilt overriding his system and forcing his eyes away from Ianto. The last time he had seen Ianto this…_ferocious_…had been the night when he had ordered Lisa's execution, the night when he had deliberately shattered Ianto's whole world in front of him. That was the only time, the one, singular moment in the whole time he had known the man. Ianto's anger simmered quietly, crackling and hissing – _this_ anger was raging and spitting, burning Jack with the heat of its flame.

For the first time in a very, _very_ long time, Captain Jack Harkness was genuinely frightened.

"I did," he tried at reasoning, holding up his hands placatingly; as a trainer would to a rabid animal, showing himself to be no threat. "I did ask you, Ianto…I know I didn't at first, but last night…"

"You asked me, but you didn't act on it," the words flew from Ianto's lips like venom from a cobra's fangs, every inch of him inhabiting the animalistic form that Jack's mind had given him. "Like you ever intended to act on it at all. You make it seem as though you're listening, but what use is that? What's the point? I didn't want you to listen – I wanted you to _do_ something. I wanted you to fuck me, and you _didn't_. You listened and decided that I was wrong, just like you always have. That's not listening Jack. Is what I want really that insignificant? Really, Jack?"

"Ianto…stop it, just stop it, this isn't…"

"No, Jack, _you_ stop it," Ianto's hands clenched by his side, the scabs on his palms torn open once again by his raggedy nails. "Stop being so…so fucking subdued. Where's that Jack Harkness passion? Where's that anger? Come on, I want to see. _Show_ me something Jack. I don't want to see this, I want to see that. Or are you really as pathetic as he said you were…?"

There was a choking sound as something caught at Ianto's throat, his eyes squeezing shut as he continued his tirade.

"He told me that after I died…and yes, I remember that, each and every second of it…you just fucking _stopped_. You stopped. You gave up. You didn't even fight. You think I wanted you to be that? You think that I like knowing that I _made_ you that? And now I have to fucking live with the fact that it was _my fault_ – you did it, you killed him, but it was _my fault_. I'm the one you blame, aren't I, Jack? You blame me for Stephen's death, because if I hadn't been so damned annoying as to die like that you'd have carried on and found another way. I'm right, aren't I?"

Jack's brow knitted together tightly as Ianto spoke, his teeth grinding until sparks of pain shot through his mouth.

"Ianto, stop it…"

"That's why you can't even bare to touch me."

"I'm warning you, stop it. _Now_."

"It's pathetic, you know that. _You're_ pathetic. Why won't you just admit it? Go on. I dare you."

The silence hung in the air for only a few, tense fractions of a second before a red mist descended over Jack's vision. He found himself imploding and exploding at the same time, every inch of him ricocheting away from his grasp with more force than even the bomb had managed to create.

"Yes! Yes, I blamed you. I blamed you every single second I was running. I tried so hard to forget but I never could, and I have fucking _hated _you for making me feel this way. You know that? Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now?"

He took a step forward, anger spiralling through him as Ianto stood his ground. He wasn't supposed to that. Jack was angry, Jack was fucking _furious_ – no one stood up to him when faced with this kind of fury. But one look into Ianto's face told him that the young man was far gone – too far gone to register anything but the fire that was strong enough to melt the ice of fear.

"Come on, Jack," he snarled, fingers curling outwards like fierce talons. "All this time pretending that you cared so much, pussy footing around me because you felt it was you _ought_ to do – why don't you just let it out? Stop lying, for once. That's all I want. If you can't bear to touch me then you just come right out and say it."

"_I can't bear to touch you_."

There was in intake of breath, the sound whistling through the room as Ianto sucked in through his nose.

"That's a start at least," he let out a laugh, the sound so sharp that it seemed to cut through into Jack's chest. It punctured something deep – emotion flew from the hole, rushing out before he could even begin to hold it back. He took another step forward, feeling his whole body drenched in sweat and uncontained fury.

"You think you get it?" he barked, taking another step and forcing Ianto to back away. "You think you know everything? You can't possibly know. You don't know. If you think this is all about you – I can't touch you because of _me_, not _you_. You weren't _supposed_ to be important. You were the fucking tea-boy, the archivist - but you burrowed in there and you would never _go away_. You wanted to know so much – oh, you were subtle, but you were always there, worming your way in and I could never, _ever _get rid of you. _I _had to deal with the consequences of that. Me. Me alone. You don't understand. You don't know anything. Nothing at all."

"I think I get you more than you get yourself," Ianto hissed, even though he had shrunk a little beneath Jack's gaze. "I clocked you. I knew you. You were easy to get – you play at emotion, you always did, but how much of it was real? I bet you can't even _remember_ what it's like to hurt. Not properly. Not really."

"If you fucking dare…"

Jack stepped forward again, looming over Ianto until the younger man was forced to press himself flush against the far wall. But there was no fear on his face – even as Jack raised his fist against him, even as the shadow of his clenched hand darkened the anger-flushed features of his face, a snarl curled at the ragged lips.

"If you're going to hit me Jack, then you might as well fuck me as well!" he shouted, his throat cracking into an almost intelligible gurgle with the force of the sound. "It'll still hurt. Isn't that what you want? Come on then, Jack. Fuck me. Give use what we both want. Fuck me 'till it _hurts_."

As the last syllable fluttered through the air, Ianto's voice dropped to barely a whisper – as if the fight had left him as he'd realised the words that were falling from his mouth; his heart regretting them before he'd even said them. His body slackened against the wall, the fire in his eyes quenched as if a bucket of icy water had been thrown upon them. The sudden drop in the atmosphere hit Jack like a blow to the stomach as he realised what he was doing.

His raised fist fell down so sharply that the bone in his shoulder clicked.

"Jesus."

Ianto averted his gaze.

"Jack, I'm…"

"Don't," Jack stepped back and collapsed on the bed, clasping his hands at the back of his neck so that he could pull his body double. "I didn't…_Jesus_…"

From somewhere in his dark reverie he heard the sound of Ianto's body sliding down the wall and hitting the floor with a _thump_. He looked up slowly, soon enough to catch sight of the man pulling his knees to his chest and twisting his fingers in his hair.

"Ianto…" he reached forward, before thinking better of it and snatching his hand back. Ianto's eyes were dry but his body was trembling, deep shakes reverberating through him with a force that he had not displayed since they had found him. For a brief moment Jack watched him; blinking wearily in the face of his obvious distress; but knowing better than to go over and touch him.

Eventually Ianto raised his head, tired eyes rolling around the room before settling uncertainly on Jack's body.

"I didn't mean it," he whispered. "I mean…I did then…but I don't now. Will you at least let me say it?"

Jack nodded, letting a small, tragic smile grace his lips.

"Only if you let me."

Ianto mirrored his smile, nodding his head gently as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry, too," Jack played with his fingers absently-mindedly in his lap. "You know…Rory told me that we should probably talk. You know. We should talk about things."

Ianto closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, his head knocking back against the wall.

"I don't think I can do that. Not yet."

"I know," Jack rested his hands on his knees and forced himself to his feet, groaning as his whole body screamed in protest. Ianto followed him tiredly as he gathered his clothes and began to put them on, slowly covering every inch of his torso with a protective layer. Jack could feel the eyes of the young man watching him but he focused on his task, giving Ianto the time he would need to sort out his own clothing.

By the time he turned back, Ianto was fully clothed and standing against the far wall, his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. Jack took a deep breath, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks and looking thoughtfully towards the door.

"You know, I hear the beaches around here are great," he cleared his throat, eyes flicking nervously towards Ianto. "You could…but only if you want to..."

"Yeah," Ianto scuffed his foot against the floor and narrowed his gaze on the deep brown wood of the door.

"On your own, if you want. I don't have to come."

Ianto's eyes flicked back to him before returning to the door, his head tilted ever so slightly as if trying to make up his mind. In a funny, misbehaving recess of his mind Jack was reminded of the night he had returned from the Year That Never Was, when he had tentatively asked the young Welshman out on a date. Ianto had stood there silently, pensively, holding his fate in his hands probably without even knowing it; perhaps not knowing that the answer he gave would either go towards fixing the immortal man, or finishing his destruction.

Ianto suddenly caught Jack's gaze, a tiny smile murmuring across his lips.

"We never got to go back home," he said quietly, false joviality dripping from each syllable. "The weather was always crap. We might as well make the most of it."

Jack nodded jerkily, his body deflating as a little of the tension and fear was released from his body. He turned to get his coat as Ianto headed for the door, hearing the gentle _click _as the handle was turned and revelling in the comforting weight of the greatcoat as it settled on his shoulders.

"Ianto?" he said suddenly, the thick material of the coat acting as a protective shield as he turned nervously back to face the young man.

"Jack?"

"Are you…" he bit his lip, his eyes desperately trying to convey the fact that this was something he _needed _to ask. "…are you okay?"

That sad smile returned, brushing Ianto's face with an agedness that had never really belonged there.

"Yes, Jack," he said softly, eyes not really focusing on the older man's face. Jack searched his features uncertainly as Ianto paused and swallowed hard; closing his eyes briefly before opening them to aim a shot of stern, decisive blue towards the immortal's gaze.

"I'm okay."

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**TBC…**

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_Oh the angst, it burns, it burns! I'd tell you all that it'll get better next time but...eventually, my dears, eventually..._

_Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment to tell me what you think if it is convenient for you - __Oh, and virtual hugs and cookies to shhylady who gave me 200th review! You guys continue to amaze me *hands out ice cream to everyone*_


	21. Chapter 20

_A/N: I've decided to try and increase the speed of my updates, as it is not fair on you or this fiction that I leave it so long between chapters. I thank you for being so patient with me these past few months. Not only have I started a whole new chapter of my life, but I've also been tackling some of the hardest material I have ever written. It hasn't been easy writing this fiction, especially since Jack and Ianto have been reunited - that was only the beginnings of the intense challenges I would face whilst chronicling their story. Challenges I have never set myself before, and which I hope I have overcome with some semblance of confidence and competence. This chapter was supposed to have been longer, but, as usual, things never seem to work out as they have been planned - so I have decided to split the original idea for this into two chapters. I felt that Ianto's experiences in this chapter needed to stand alone, and that any addition to the end would just take something away from it. Please let me know your thoughts. _

_This chapter is one of the darkest I have written. It contains some dubious consent and some very, very angsty sex; so please be warned before reading it. _

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 20**

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_He woke up slowly. _

_That was the only real way to describe it. His eyes eased open millimetre by millimetre, light slowly filtering in until the glare of its brightness filled his vision. A steady ache began to thrum in his head as feeling returned to his limbs, the slight twitching of his fingers gradually building until the jerking had spread along the length of his arm. _

_He lifted his head slightly, testing the waters as his neck struggled to hold him in place. There was a numbness still spread throughout his body – like the remnants of something heavy weighing down in his veins, combining with gravity to try and force him down onto the bed. He fought it, twitching and flexing his muscles until the adrenaline in his body forced him into a sitting position, the blurring of his eyes clearing as he became accustomed to the light. _

_He didn't know where he was. _

_As he sat up he blinked a few times and ran his eyes across the room, drinking in hungrily with every sense. There was a bed beneath him, he realised, sheets sticking to the sweat and heat of his body; the mattress, too, was soft. In fact, he realised with surprise as he moved a little, testing it with the point of his elbow, it was _exactly _right. Last time he'd slept in any bed this soft, this tailored to his needs, had been…_

_A snarl curled at his lips as recollection came flooding back. A needle jabbing into his arm, sedative flowing freely through his blood supply as he struggled to keep hold of his consciousness. And that face, so similar to his own and yet so much _older_, looking down at him with pity…pity, pity for his plight, but not fighting for him…never fighting for him…just leaving him, forgetting him…_

_He pushed the sheet from his body quickly, anger thrumming through his veins and overpowering the last, final remnants of the sedative. There was a sharp prickling at his hand as he moved, something tugging at his skin – he looked down to see a tiny needle taped in place against the back of his hand. Attached to it was a tube leading towards an IV which hung with with a dull emptiness by the side of his bed. _

_It must have been more than one shot – he reasoned. He must have been here longer than that. They must have been keeping him sedated, to keep him quiet. Maybe even to keep themselves safe. All these thoughts flittered through his mind in less time than it took for him to scan the room one last time, his mind working at a frenetic pace. _

_Oh yes, he wasn't stupid. Even as a little boy, his curled hair tousling in the wind of the land he had known so well and now could barely remember, they'd all known he was sharp. And he'd kept on proving it, even when he was chained to a wall, even when they took him to within an inch of death and left him hanging…even as the little boy had scurried away to some far depths of his mind, never to return…he'd always been sharp. _

_He quickly removed the needle, wincing slightly as he dragged it from his skin, before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and taking a few unsteady steps. Luckily, the effects of the sedative seemed to be wearing off quickly, something that wasn't that far from a miracle considering the amount he suspected he'd been given. He stepped forward, testing his weight and shuffling along on the balls of his feet until he was able to balance himself fully. _

_Drawing himself up to his full height, he stretched out his arms, prostrating himself against the air. A childish glee flooded his mind as he realised that someone hadn't been paying attention…someone hadn't topped up his sedative. Someone had made a mistake, and because of that he was free. He could feel the cold biting his body, the gentle thrumming that hummed in the air telling him exactly where he was. _

_He knew where he was now. _

_He also knew where he was going. _

_As he headed towards the small medical kit that was nestled just by the side of the bed, the muscles of his mouth twitched slightly…_

_And then he smiled. _

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Ianto shot awake, eyes flying open and lungs drawing in great gulps of air. His heart jumped at a frenetic speed, like uneven drumbeats thundering through his chest and into his skull. His eyes were dry, he realised as he quickly put his hand to his face; there were no tears there, just the stone cold terror pummelling through his veins like an icy river.

That smile.

Invading his dream like a knife cutting through his flesh – tearing him open like that serrated edge had done so many times. It hadn't been there to start with, not for most of the dream; in fact, he couldn't actually remember what the rest of it had been about. It didn't seem to matter. All that mattered was _that smile_, tearing open the fabric of his dream and letting all those words and feelings and memories leak through into his head.

All those thing that he had said to him; all those insane, manic words whispered into the ear amidst the grunts and the hisses of breath; harsh words cutting into him, poison seeping into his flesh as jagged nails punctured his skin. But, more pertinent, those endearments, the softer words, dropped teasingly into the air as Ianto had felt the full weight of him pressing down…

_I can make you want this…_

_I can make you love me…_

_That wasn't so bad, was it…_

_Just pretend I'm him…_

Ianto suddenly became aware of heat melded against his back and gentle breath sliding through the hair of the nape at his neck. He froze, his blood turning to ice and shattering in his veins as he registered a heavy arm slung across his waist, pinning him down to the bed…

No. Not pinning him. That wasn't what it was doing.

He turned slightly, shifting on the mattress…_not the cold floor, not that jagged straw_…and tilting his head as far as he could without disturbing the figure behind him. There was a slight hitch in the breaths as he moved, but that gentle _in-out _ motion of the chest soon settled down and Ianto exhaled the air he had been holding in his throat. As his eyes caressed the figure, sliding over the contours and shapes that made up his body, he began to feel some of the ice melting warmly within him. The shape of the man moulded against his side, one hand rested on the curve of his protruding hipbone and the other tucked between them, was strangely comforting.

Amongst the memories of that other body – the thinner one, the scrawnier one – this body wriggled its way in, somehow nestling to form a protective shield between the harsh, angular lines of the madman and the bruised flesh of Ianto's body. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, luxuriating in the warmth before he opened them to watch the not-quite-serene face of the man who had formerly been his lover.

_Formerly. _

The smile that had been creeping onto his face skittered away, falling to the wayside as the weight of the word pummelled into his chest.

The feel of fingers digging into his flesh, of bony hips crashing hard against his skin, burst through his mind at that thought – the thought that, still, after all this time, it didn't really matter that Jack was lying here next to him, with him. Yes, he was around him, spooned against him and enveloping every inch of his exterior…but it wasn't in his outside skin that the true damage was.

There was a slight stirring against Ianto's leg as the man draped over him shifted once again, something digging ever so softly into the skin of his thigh. A tiny spark ignited in Ianto's chest, the tiniest of flames licking just beneath his ribcage as he subconsciously pressed his leg downwards against the movement he could feel. When he'd insisted on them sleeping together naked, he hadn't really understood the inclination that had driven him to demand it. He'd just known he'd _had_ to do it. But now, as he lifted the sheet a fraction and glanced down at Jack's unconscious stirring, he began to realise that…

But Jack didn't want it. Didn't want him. Ianto's brow furrowed slightly as his eyes flicked from Jack's groin to his face, noting the steady calmness on his features and contrasting it against…well…_dammit_, he thought suddenly, his fist clenching at his side. They'd been sleeping in this bed together, unclothed, completely bare, often with one of them draped around the other, for several nights now. Ianto had to admit he'd had to struggle with a mixture of respect at Jack for keeping his hands to himself all this time, and an insane urge to pull his hair out in frustration, to scream for that touch to go just a little deeper.

Something gripped him as the thought of the lack of sex with Jack seemed to feed the memories he wanted to suppress – an aching need to forget that urged him to reach out and curl his cold fingers around the older man's flesh. The warmth only ignited further the fire that was burning within him, the twitch of Jack in sleep and the sudden warm exhalation of breath spurring him on as he reached over to the bedside cabinet with his free hand.

Jack seemed to stir a little more, wakefulness creeping up on him slowly as Ianto gently pushed him onto his back, planting one hand on his chest whilst the other opened the cap of the tube he had just found – not as skilfully as he once had, but he still managed to get his shaking fingers to comply through sheer force of will. There was a hint of smugness thrumming through his brain even as he clumsily applied the clear gel onto his fingers; they all thought he was so changed, so different, so _vulnerable_, and yet he'd known the exact place to go to find what he needed.

_I know Jack_, he thought, wincing as he breached himself with first one finger, then two, stretching himself as far as he dared. _More than they think. I can do whatever they think I can't…they don't know me…_

A pain shot up his lower back as he stretched a little further, further than he had dared a few moments before. The coldness of the gel felt almost new to him now after months of hot, dry rawness; he bit back a grunt at the unfamiliarity, the hiss of air against his teeth stirring Jack further from his now-rather-fragile sleep. The older man twitched slightly against him, his thigh catching Ianto in the groin and sending a wave of…of…something that Ianto hadn't felt in a while…shooting through ever nerve ending in his body.

He may not have felt it in a long time - an eternity it sometimes seemed - but he definitely recognised it. He remembered cool nights blasted with heat; bodies forced together by the claustrophobia of Jack's bunker. The ache ricocheting up his back was all but forgotten as those memories overtook him, overpowering grinning teeth and wild eyes in favour of lust and mutual passion and…

Jack's eyes cracked open slightly as Ianto moved over him, awkwardly swinging a leg over his waist and settling his weight down on him - as easily as he could with the sudden frantic energy that was soaring through his head. It seemed to take a moment for him to recognise just what was going on, his eyelashes fluttering as if trying to wipe the sleep away from the depths of his eyes…and then he saw Ianto, his skinny frame balanced awkwardly on top of him.

The eyes widened.

"Ianto…"

Ianto leant down quickly, forcing his mouth over Jack's lips with a violence that he hoped would communicate just how much he _needed_ this. It wasn't, he thought somewhere in the back of his fogged mind, a question of want anymore. This wasn't desire…this was necessity. He needed this, needed to know that whenever he thought of anything remotely intimate it would be Jack there, invading his thoughts, rather than the feel and touch and eyes of his tormentor.

It wasn't a kiss, not really. It was a crushing of mouths, flesh bulldozed messily together. He wasn't kissing Jack because he wanted to kiss Jack – not because he wanted it to be tender or sweet or affectionate. He didn't care whether those things were there or not. Not anymore, if he ever actually had. This wasn't romance, this was fucking – that's all he wanted; Jack, in him, _now_. But if kissing Jack was the way towards getting him to agree with what he wanted, with what he needed…if kissing was the only way to get him to shut up and fucking _see…_then that's what he would do.

He broke away suddenly, his face hovering for a few seconds as if to gauge Jack's reaction as he lifted his hips, lining himself up and…

"Ianto…" Jack interrupted again, catching hold of his waist lightly and gripping him in place. "…we can't…"

Ianto was down in a flash, every inch of him thrumming with a nervous energy as he pressed their cheeks together and brushed his lips over the ridge of Jack's ear. Jack shuddered ever so slightly at the touch, an obvious battle going on between his head and his body as Ianto's shaky breath tickled at his hair. Ianto remembered his own trembling body, that first night that he had slept with Jack; his need to milk the rough bluntness, to take that pain that he craved so much from the encounter, and yet still, at the same time, eager for some form of gentleness along the way.

"Just say no…" he whispered softly, mimicking those words Jack had whispered into his ear all that time ago. "…and I'll stop."

Jack opened his mouth to protest…but in one quick motion Ianto had impaled himself on him, a wave of pressure building in his lower half as he furrowed his brow against the invasion and clenched uncomfortably. Jack's mouth snapped shut, his lips rolling together as he tightened his grip on the younger man's waist; as if not quite sure whether he wanted to push him away or pull him down deeper, harder, further…

A litany of words escaped his mouth as Ianto began to move, mumbled from between clenched teeth and pliant lips:

_Shouldn't…_

_Can't…_

_Musn't…_

But not once did the word _no_ fall from his lips.

As if he couldn't say it.

As if he didn't _want _to say it.

Not really.

So Ianto carried on, rolling his hips with more ferocity as he sat up straight, planting one hand firmly on Jack's heaving chest to give himself more leverage. He closed his eyes, nails clawing at flesh as he allowed the invasion to completely overwhelm him – it was a pain, but not the pain that signified the loss of control, not the pain that tore him apart and ripped down deeper than his flesh. Not the kind of pain that cut away at his soul a little bit more, forcing a gaping wound with each thrust and parry.

A battle.

Yes, that was it.

A battle in his head and in his body; only this time he was warring with himself, fighting away those demons from inside his own mind. That sensation, that fullness that was at the same time uncomfortable and yet…_good_…was forcing away the ripping, the tearing, blocking all those unwanted memories and sensations with the sword of control. This might hurt, but it didn't hurt _in his head_.

_I am in control_.

The word echoed through his head as he scrabbled for purchase with his fingers, colours and images running like the blood of a battlefield across the closed lids of his eyes. He caught something in his hand, holding down hard and pushing with all his might. His lower half was thrumming with the excitement of control, singing in the knowledge that the madman was not there, not anymore, not there to tell him what to do and feel and to decide just _when_ he would do and feel those things. In the back of his mind he registered noises, but the pulsating _whoosh_ of blood rushing through his body drowned it out.

He didn't want to hear it anyway.

That wasn't important.

This was him. This was _his_. He was in control here. He was the one with the power; he called the shots and he didn't want anyone else fighting through that. A mist descended over his vision, the blood red colour clouding over his sight – if he opened his eyes, he would have hazarded a guess that the very whites of his eyes would be stained crimson, the colour seeping into his very soul.

Something scrabbled at his waist, as if trying to fight back for that control. He clenched his fists against flesh and refused to allow it in. It was his control and it was hard won. _No one else could have it_. He'd fought too hard to have it snatched away by anyone.

His eyes opened just a little as he felt the blood pulsing through him, the determination to stare down the figure – the figure threatening whatever control he had gained - stoking the fire within the pit of his stomach. Through his foggy eyes and the misty frame of his eyelashes he could make out the outline of a figure, a figure so similar…jaw-line, chin, mouth, lips…_those lips_…but in those eyes there was fear, panic, something that swept through him to strike at the very heart of his arousal.

_You're not in control anymore_, he though gleefully, fingers looping around their prize and thumbs pressing down hard at the gulping flesh. _You don't have me anymore. I'm not yours. You're mine._

He could feel the pressure build within him as he began to jerk, his movements frenetic and disjointed as something pooled deep down. There was something thrumming against his fingertips, something slowing down against the pads of his skin as if to juxtapose his own heart rate. The contrast was good. He liked the contrast. It somehow made him feel as though he had won, even as that pressure released – his pulse skyrocketed, just as the _thrum-thrum-thrum_ of the drum beat he could feel beneath him slowed to a steady stop.

And then everything went black.

It was a while before Ianto came back to himself, his body lying spread-eagled across a firm figure and his stomach coated in wetness. He grimaced at the sensation as he stirred, shifting his body slightly to let the cold air catch at his exposed skin. The coolness felt good in contrast to the unbearable heat that permeated his body, his skin throbbing with a contented numbness as he settled himself into a comfier position.

A smile danced across his lips, playing at the corners of his mouth as he buried his face triumphantly into the warm flesh beneath him. Triumph flushed through him as he rested his cheek against the heart of the man on the bed. They'd been wrong. He'd done it. They'd done it. They'd…

"Jack?"

Ianto's voice rasped at his throat as a sudden notion shot through him, panic slicing through his heart as the other man entered his thoughts for the first time. Panic that gripped him by the throat and shook him to his very core as his cheek picked up just what was wrong with the flesh beneath it…

It wasn't warm.

The body beneath him – not warm at all. It was not quite cold, but cooling; he could feel the air snatching the heat away from it, dragging it further into the lifelessness that sent a chord of terror reverberating through Ianto's skull. His hands, raised above his head, finally relaxed, fingers falling away from whatever it was that they had been clinging to…

"_Jack?_"

The tremor in his voice cut deep as he realised just what he had been holding onto; the timbre raising a few decibels as he hauled himself away from Jack's body. He could see now, from his new vantage point, the blank stare of Jack's eyes and the long, finger-shaped ladder of purple bruises that trailed from his jaw to his throat. The panic within shook him, clutching at his stomach like a knife twisting deep.

_No…no…no…nonononono..._

He scrambled from the bed, his whole body throbbing as he fell onto the hard floor – the cold surface scratched at his back but he didn't care, his whole being fixated on the sight of the body before him. Jack's body. Jack's _dead_ body.

Dead because of him.

And, suddenly, Ianto realised he had never felt so out of control in his life.

All that feeling, all that power – not real, never real, just a mask…so fabricated, so fake and so all-consuming. He'd never lost control so completely, never really experienced just what it felt like to have every single inch of power drained from him. That hadn't been power. He'd thought that those few minutes had been the moment he'd cut the links of the chain holding him to his captor, but now he realised that every single second had been powered by that same man.

He was exactly the man that his tormenter wanted him to be.

How could he ever go back?

With that thought ringing in his ears, Ianto clawed himself to his feet, scrabbling at the cabinet and the walls; anything that could help him to stand up, to get as far away as he could from the scene of his crime. He didn't care that he was naked, not anymore. Maybe, at one time, he would have cared…but right now he didn't know how to care for anything other than Jack's dead eyes staring out at him.

A sob choked in his throat, one single tear spilling down his cheek as he wrenched open the door, a blast of cold air raising goosepimples across the length of his flesh. He glanced back one last time, knowing that even if Jack would come back - and who knew if that had changed...so much else had - then there was no way he could fix this. He couldn't pick up the pieces and be Ianto Jones again, the Ianto Jones that Jack had wanted to rescue.

Ianto Jones was gone. There was nothing left to fix. No one left to rescue.

And, with that, he fled the room; the lingering, lifeless eyes of the man he had killed following him until the door slammed shut behind him.

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**TBC...**

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_Oh dear. Only a few more chapters of this, I promise. I can't keep doing this to them forever...at least, I don't think I can. _

_Plus, what do we think of the figure stirring somewhere in the depths of the Tardis? What could this mean for our broken boys? _

_Thank you for reading. If you have any comments, please feel free to leave them_.


	22. Chapter 21

_A/N: I have made a decision in this fiction, and that is to stop being so ambitious with my chapters. I have decided to keep them short, to spread things out, because then I can offer you a more consistent updating schedule as opposed to huge, whopping great big chapters at sporadic intervals. So far, what I had planned out for a two chapters has taken up about five, and we're not even there yet. But bear with me, I do know where we're going. It all depends on how long it takes the characters to go in that general direction. It's all up to them at the end of the day. _

_Another reason for the fact that I haven't updated (I was hoping to have this done by Thursday) is that student times have become very hectic. Last week the British Government voted to treble University tuition fees, which puts any plans I may have had of doing a Masters in English Literature or Creative Writing firmly into the impossible column. This has made me incredibly angry, and my muse was squashed for a while whilst I tried to process the information. I've also been busy as my Uni LGBT+ Society has just passed Gender Neutral Toilets through counsecil, and as Trans Officer I am in charge of the awareness campaign that will accompany it. Luckily we're coming up to Christmas holidays and I'm planning on doing not much else other than writing. _

_So thank you for your continued support. The number of reviews has dwindled as my updating schedule has become sporadic, and so I am doing my best to correct this. I don't want to discourage anyone from reading by the fact that the updates are not reliable. I am doing my level best. Thank you so much, and I hope I can continue to meet your expectations. _

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**Chapter 21**

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Rory propped himself up on his arm, elbow resting on the silky pillow and chin cupped slightly awkwardly in the palm of his hand.

He was watching his fiancée sleep. He'd always done that, on the nights that they'd spent together (looking back, he had to admit that that hadn't actually been all that many) but now, since he had been whisked away with her to the deepest, darkest corners of the universe, he was doing it an awful lot more.

Reaching out with his free hand and gently trailing a finger down her snowy cheek, he let his teeth sink lightly into his bottom lip – not hard enough to draw blood, but just enough pressure to allow for a small stab of pain. It was a habit he'd had as a child, to ease the tensions and nervousness. As he'd reached his teens Amy had all but bullied it out of him. Especially as they'd started dating; she said it made his face look pinched and it resulted in flaky lips, and if there was one thing she wasn't going to do it was to date a boy with a pinched face and flaky lips.

A smile crept across his face as he released his lip from between his teeth, her berating tone ringing affectionately in his ears. She'd always been a bit wild, and any other man, any _sane _man, would have bolted at the first hurdle. But not him. He'd just kept on clambering over them, however high they seemed to get.

She stirred slightly, her nose wrinkling as if to bat away the tips of his fingers, which were tickling at her cheek. Rory smiled again but quickly obeyed, preferring to let her sleep than wake her and incur her wrath. He loved watching her sleep – in her wakefulness there was always a wide-eyed wonder, an alertness that seemed to fade away from her features as she drifted into unconsciousness. And as much as he loved her wild side, he also loved those moments when she was peaceful. He could remember sitting with her as she cried and raged, holding her hand as she stubbornly refused to go and see the most recent in a long line of psychiatrists. Watched the desperation in her eyes as she tried to pretend that his dressed-up self really was the Doctor that she longed to return…

The smiled melted away from his lips ever so slightly, and he moved to pull the sheet gently up to her chin. The only reason he'd ever studied nursing was in the hope that one day he could become a doctor…maybe not her Doctor, but as close as he could get. It was for her. All for her.

He averted his gaze from her face for a brief moment, instead letting his eyes wander over the red hair fanned out across the creamy pillowcase; in the dark, it shone like a bright flame licking across the bed, slowly consuming every last inch of it. Dropping his hand, Rory lay down next to her and began to play with one of the strands that lay just next to his cheek, running the pad of his thumb over the soft edge thoughtfully.

_If it was Amy, what would you do?_

It haunted him, that. Ever since the words had fallen from Jack's lips he had wondered, worried, fretted and all but torn his hair out about just what he would do. He'd gone back to his room after that conversation, the tiredness in Jack's eyes gnawing at his brain incessantly; he'd gone back to his room and hugged Amy as tightly as he possibly could. He hadn't told her why. And, for once, she'd seemed to realise that this was something he didn't want to talk about – and so she'd just held him, rubbed small circles on his back, kissed him, encouraged him to cry and then wiped away his tears with her sleeve.

Rory knew that he'd die to preserve what he had with Amy. He'd give his life to protect her. That's what he'd do if it was Amy – he'd try, even if it killed him.

That's what love was.

But seeing Jack and Ianto like that, seeing them so shattered and broken down – he could see that they loved each other, he really could, and yet it was if they wouldn't allow themselves to recognise those feelings. _They _were the only ones who couldn't see it. Hell, even Gray, the man who had tortured Ianto to within an inch of his sanity, could see the love between them better than they themselves could – because he'd seen it enough to know just how to hurt Jack.

Rory couldn't imagine a day when the words "I love you" would be impossible for him to say. He thought it every second of his existence; he'd said it so many times that Amy had resorted to rolling her eyes every time he did. Not so much, actually, since that dream caused by the psychic pollen…she'd started saying it a lot more since then, started holding him close every time he said it back. To think that that could be so hard, so tricky, to even think those words…

A fierce knocking interrupted his thoughts, catching him by surprise. Her jerked around on the bed to face the door, the tip of his nail catching on a strand of Amy's hair and dragging it with him as he turned.

"_Owwch!_"

Rory swivelled his head to face Amy as she sat up, glaring at him and rubbing at her scalp.

"What was that for?"

He blanched.

"Nothing…I just…I thought I heard…"

"_Rory Williams!_" something hard crashed against the door – once, twice – causing it to shake in its frame. "_Rory! Please!_"

Rory and Amy looked at each other momentarily before shooting out of bed, both of them recognising the lilt of the voice crying at them outside their room – both of them balking at the unfamiliar tone that permeated each and every syllable.

Amy pulled on her nightgown and then her dressing gown, shaky fingers fumbling at the strings as she tied it around her waist. Rory grabbed at the nearest shirt and pair of jeans, clumsily throwing them on his body. They both dressed as quickly as they possibly could, but their bodies were shaking with the vestiges of sleep and the fearful adrenaline running through them as they listened to the heavy breathing just outside their door.

"_Rory…Amy…_"

"We're coming!" Amy yelled, her voice frantic as she almost tripped over the corner of the bed in her haste to get to the door. As she stumbled past him, Rory caught her by the shoulders, gripping them tightly and stopping her in her tracks.

"Breathe," he said, his voice quivering ever so slightly as he followed his own instructions. She nodded and took a deep breath.

"What do you think…?"

"Something must be wrong."

"Wrong? But, I don't know how we're going to…"

"Me neither."

"Why didn't he go to…?"

"I don't know."

_Thud-Thud-Thud_.

"He sounds so…" there was a tear prickling in the corner of Amy's eye; Rory wiped it away with his sleeve, one hand pulling her close to him as she took in a shaky breathe. "…broken."

Rory pulled away, his eyes shining with uncertainty.

"I know."

Amy looked at him for a few seconds, love (that had only begun to shine with any real intensity in these past few weeks) shimmering in the single tear gathering at the corner of her eye. She licked her lips before pulling away and lacing their fingers together, squeezing down as tightly as she possibly could as she watched her fiancé lean forward and open the door.

x

x

_The cold was licking at his bones, curling in on him and wrapping him in its icy tendrils. Ianto stumbled as it caught against him, his bare skin scraping against the smooth wall of the Tardis before he fell to his knees. His back smarted where he had landed from the bed earlier, and there was a pain creeping in from the back of his skull. He could feel it. He could hear it. _

_Singing. _

_The singing had been quieter in the past few days, the days in which he had been sharing Jack's bed. He didn't know why, but he knew that that had been a good thing. He'd almost forgotten what the singing had sounded like. _

_But now it was back, looping its way through his ears and reverberating through his brain. He clenched his fists against the ground as he forced himself up, his legs virtually turning to jelly beneath him. Every inch of him seemed to hurt, but he hauled himself up as best he could. That was all he could give. His best. _

_But his best wasn't good enough. Rory had told him, when he had first woken up in this God-awful ship – God awful because he couldn't find his way out of it, for fuck's sake – that all he had to do was try. Well, he had. He'd tried as hard as he could, but how could he try and be something he obviously wasn't? _

_Ianto Jones didn't rape and kill. He didn't. At least, he thought he didn't. Which meant that he wasn't Ianto Jones anymore. He couldn't be. He'd bled more than blood into the cold straw in the Chula ambulance. Maybe he should find the Doctor, demand to have the ambulance back so that he could scrabble through the rough alien fauna, in the desperate hope that could absorb some of the Ianto Jones back into his body – so that some of the Ianto Jones that had bled out could come back. _

_Just a little bit. He just wanted a little bit. He'd eat the fucking straw if he had to, taste the iron of the blood, the shit, the piss, the sweat that had leaked from every single orifice, each drop carrying a little bit more of him away. He wanted it back. But he knew it was gone. It was crusted away, sent away, no turning back. _

_His feet padded along the ground as he moved further onwards, trying as hard as he could not to stumble. It was as if his whole body was defying him, refusing to cooperate with a brain that didn't quite fit in this body. A prickling sensation ran along his limbs, trying to force him down, down, down…_

_But he wouldn't. Not yet. He had to keep moving. Had to get away so that he could be as far as possible from the body he had left in Jack's room. He'd killed him. He didn't want to see the reminder. Didn't want to be near it. Even now, the image of those dead eyes, those purple bruises, flittered like a slideshow over his eyes, present every time he closed the lids to blink. He'd tried not blinking, but that just hurt. And he didn't want to hurt. Even though he deserved to hurt – he was a coward and he didn't want to hurt. _

_There was a sudden movement in front of him, something stirring in the darkness as he craned his head to try and make the figure out. A part of him hoped with all his heart that it was Jack, hoped that the older man would come striding around the corner with a smile on his face and forgiveness in his heart. Just like he had always done before – giving him the forgiveness and the closure that he knew he didn't quite deserve but willingly accepted anyway. _

_As the figure moved further towards him, emerging from the shadows and into the light, hope jumped in his heart. _

"_Jack…" _

_Laughter. Not Jack's laughter. Jack's laughter was many things, but it was never cold. _

_Ianto fell to his knees as the face emerged into the light, the sharp angles highlighted by the alien lighting that adorned the ship. The very sight of that face sent him stumbling to his knees, falling to the floor in a submissive pose. It was pathetic, he knew that; the singing his head grew even louder as he bowed his head slightly and swallowed hard. Just a few short moments ago, in that room with Jack, he had felt a sense of power and control that he hadn't felt since before his death. He'd known that he could take the man on and win, knew that he wasn't helpless – knew that he could stand up for himself. _

_But that was then. _

_That was with Jack. When he'd pretended that Jack had been the madman, had been his tormenter, then it had been easy. When Jack had lain there and all but taken whatever it was that Ianto threw at him, then he'd been able to feel some semblance of power. Jack was willing to submit to him – he didn't have to fear Jack. Just pretend. It had just been pretend, in his mind. Not real. _

_And now that he was here, staring him down, all he could do was crouch to the floor and avert his gaze on the grinning face of the man in front of him. _

"_Did you miss me, Ianto?" _

_Fingers curled under his chin, forcing his head upwards to fix on those eyes that were neither blue nor green. Ianto swallowed hard, his lips parting a little as the breath of his tormentor ghosted over his face. He could smell the scent that had haunted his dreams for months, felt it permeating through his skin and cancelling out the smell of himself – well, the smell of Jack anyway, which after so much time spent fucking each other had basically become his own scent back on Earth. _

"_We had so much fun." _

_A soft flicking of lips against his own before he was being hauled to his feet, tugged upwards and supported against the bulk of the madman. It was then he realises that he didn't have the strength to support himself – the very sight and smell of the man had made his legs go weak, had made him loose all balance and all strength. _

_He felt very, very small. _

"_We can have some fun again." _

_But, somewhere in his mind – somewhere that he had been ignoring ever since his rescue – he felt safe. Safe because at least now he knew what was going to happen. At least now, he didn't have to sit by and let the weight of everything rest upon his shoulders. There had never been any uncertainty in those months lying on the straw in that tiny ambulance. No questions about what was going to happen. Sure, it was going to hurt, but at least he knew. He could prepare. _

_Uncertainty had been all he'd felt since Jack had rescued him. Uncertainty had been what led to…to…Ianto raping him and killing him. _

_The words spun around his head. _

Rape…Kill…Rape…Kill…Rapekill…Rapekill…Rapekill...

_They caught up in the singing, dancing along with the rhythm even as the madman moved closer, a hand gripping at his hair and forcing him God-knew where. Words weaving around him and teasing him for all he was worth. Singing to him. _

_And Ianto closed his eyes and handed over control. _

_Because it was just fucking easier that way. _

x

x_  
_

They'd expected Jack to stumble into the room, their spines tensed like springs to move out of his way. After all, the way that he'd been hammering on the door had sounded as though he had been attempting to crash straight through onto the other side.

But he didn't.

Instead he stood there, hands in the pockets of his slacks and his eyes fixed despondently on the faces of the young couple before him. His shirt was loosely done up around him, hanging from his frame with an emptiness that somehow seemed to make him appear much smaller than he actually was. Rory could see at least two buttons were askew and a few more had been looped into the wrong holes, as if the shirt had been done up with shaking fingers that couldn't quite catch their purchase. He swallowed, angling his body so that Jack couldn't see that his and Amy's hand were gripped together, quivering lightly.

"Can I come in?"

Jack's voice was hoarse, as if his throat were bristling beneath the vowels. Rory nodded quickly, stepping back to allow him room to enter. He didn't quite trust himself to speak, so he hoped that the gentle nod of his head and his backwards movement would speak loudly enough instead. Luckily, Jack didn't seem to have lost his ability to interpret signs (obvious ones, at least, Rory thought as he cast his mind back to his relationship with the young Welshman) and he stepped through slowly, wavering slightly on his feet.

Amy let go of Rory's hand and reached forward as Jack seemed to sway precariously, catching him by the arm and leading him to the bed. When they were sure he was settled, Rory hurried to the side of the room to retrieve a spare sheet and drape it loosely around Jack's shivering shoulders.

"Don't need it," Jack whispered softly, the words hissing through his teeth as he gripped it by the corner and hauled it away from him. "I'm not cold."

"Okay," Rory stepped back and held his hands up in defence. "It's just instinct…y'know, nurse and all that."

Jack didn't respond, his eyes still staring blankly at Rory as if trying to work out how best to approach something. The young man swallowed and scuffed his feet against the ground nervously, suddenly extremely aware of every inch of his body under Jack's scrutinising gaze. He could feel a hot prickle along the length of his skin as Jack's eyes ran over him, and he shot a tiny, desperate glance towards Amy.

She smiled, a tiny smile which fell from her face as soon as she turned away from Rory to look Jack in the eye.

"Jack…" she took his hand, holding it tightly on Jack's knee as the older man attempted to pull it away. ""What happened?"

Silence hung in the air.

"Jack," she tried again, sterner this time. "You obviously came here to tell us something, so…"

"Ianto," he hissed, looking at her with a dull fire burning in his blue irises. Amy nodded in response, carefully hiding the slight shudder of fear that ran through her - only Rory could sense it.

"What about him?"

"He…" Jack leant forward suddenly, burying his face in his hands. "He didn't mean to, it wasn't his fault. If I'd have just…but I couldn't, I couldn't do what he wanted me to do. I didn't expect him to…I didn't think he would…he's never, _ever_ shown any sign that that was what he would do…"

A shaky breath silenced him, his throat making scratchy noises as he drew air desperately into his lungs. Amy moved to sit beside him, rubbing her hand in small circles on his back as he sucked in oxygen for all he was worth.

"What did he do, Jack?" she whispered, keeping up the smooth rhythm of her hand.

Jack looked up suddenly, the dryness of his eyes taking her off guard as he stood up swiftly – almost knocking her onto her back in his haste to get away from her. Rory moved quickly to block his exit, shutting the door behind him and placing his body as a firm weight against it. Jack glared at him, as if by sheer force of will he could burn through the mass of flesh and bone blocking his way.

"This was a mistake. I don't know why I came here. I need to find him."

"Listen to her," Rory nodded towards Amy. "Answer her question."

A snarl curled at Jack's lips, and it took all the younger man's strength and composure to keep himself firm against the door.

"Let me out or you'll regret it."

"I don't think I will."

"Dammit, Rory!" Jack lashed out with his fist, narrowly missing Rory's cheek as the young man ducked. His hand crashed against the door, the sound of bones cracking against the hard wood reverberating through the room.

"Shit," Jack dropped to the floor, cradling his injured hand against his chest as Rory hurried to his side to examine him. "It's fine. I'll heal."

"Don't care," Rory prised Jack's arm away from his torso, taking note of the slightly skewed fingers and the purpling colour rippling along the knuckles. "Amy, can you pass me a cloth?"

"No, really, you don't need to…"

"Thank you, Amy," Rory took the cloth from her and smiled softly, indicating that she should sit next to Jack on the floor as he began to wrap the damaged hand. "And whilst I'm doing this…talk to her. She's a good listener. When she listens."

Amy stuck her tongue out at him before placing a gentle hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Why did you come here?"

Jack swallowed, his throat bobbing as he averted his gaze.

"I'm not entirely sure on that one, yet," he blinked slowly, as if carefully wiping away a film of dust from his eyes. "I'm guessing a psychologist would probably say it's because subconsciously I wanted to talk. Or something like that. I never got that whole Freudian thing; anyway…I certainly never wanted to have sex with my mother, if that's what you're talking about."

Amy smiled, taking no notice of his attempts to throw her off course. Her hand travelled down his arm to take hold of his healthy hand, squeezing it tightly in contrast to the gentle pressure of Rory's skilled fingers on his other.

"Where's Ianto? Why do you need to find him?"

"I…" Jack closed his eyes. "He ran away."

Amy's eyes widened suddenly, concern permeating the coolness of her gaze.

"Ran away? Where? Is he still in the Tardis? What did he…"

"Amy…" Rory gestured towards the panic obviously rising in Jack's eyes, silently pleading with her to stop talking. "I'm sure he's still on board, we just need to work out where he is. Which means we need the Doctor."

"No," Jack caught his glance, flames licking at his pupils fiercely. "No Doctor. Not yet."

Amy manoeuvred herself around him, as elegantly as she could whilst buried in the vast swathes of her dressing gown (which Rory noted was actually his), so that she could fix Jack with a questioning look that defied him not to answer. From experience, Rory knew that no one, not even this damaged, broken, immortal man could fail to comply under such a gaze. It was a look that Amy only reserved for the most serious of situations, which was something that the universe in general should be very thankful about – if she used it for her own diabolical ends, then the universe would be her's within a week.

"Jack," her voice was low, soft, her accent thickening and taking on an almost melodic quality. "Tell me. Tell me what happened."

And so, unable to fight against the piercing glare of Amy's most persuasive face, Jack opened his mouth.

And began to talk.

x

x

_Deep in the bowels of the Tardis, a voice split the air: _

_"I told you we could have some fun..."_

x

x

**TBC**...

* * *

_Thank you so much for reading. _

_I hope that my sporadic updates haven't put you off this. The reshuffling of chapter ideas and suchlike should combat this problem, so I hope you'll stick with me through this. This is the hardest part of the fiction, and I know that I can get through it with your support. Remember - I will always reward my readers for slogging through the angst. It may not be rose petals and fairy tales, but I believe that hope is as key to drama as despair. I will never forget that. _

_If you have any comments, please feel free to share. _


	23. Chapter 22

_A/N: Greetings, Earthlings! I am now, sadly, no longer residing in Cardiff. And that is the reason for the fact that the update was not quite within one week, as I had promised. I have been bogged down with end of term assignments and exam/coursework preparation, and I was without the internet for three days this weekend. This was because I was supposed to be being picked up by my mother on Friday, taken to stay with a friend, and then coming home on Saturday (a four hour journey). As it was, it snowed. And it took us two hours to drive from Cardiff Town Centre to Cardiff Bay and book into a hotel; then we set off at nine in the morning, hoping to be back at around one, and ten hours later we gave up and stayed in a motel having only completed two thirds of the journey. We did get home quite easily the next day, but the stress and the sitting in a cold car had exacerbated the illness I have had all term, therefore leaving me stranded in bed all day and nowhere near fit to write. _

_Just thought you'd like to know all that. So you can pity me. And offer me chocolate. _

_But, we got here in the end. And seeing as I have NOTHING TO DO IN MY LIFE (I miss University so much already!) the next few updates should be quite quick. I'm talking maybe a few days? _

_Thank you so much for your patience and continued acceptance of my excuses (because I keep giving 'em!). I hope this chapter is worth any wait!_

* * *

x

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 22**

x

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**

He wasn't going to lie and tell them that waking up hadn't hurt. Of course it had – it always did. Each new breath was dragged across his throat, like knives cutting him open and forcing the life in through the gash. It wasn't so much that he came back to life; more that he was being pulled back from death via a blender.

It had always hurt. He'd gotten used to it the best that he could over the long years of his life, but that didn't mean that he didn't come back gasping and thrashing every time. Just because he'd had time to adjust and accustom his body to the pain it would feel didn't mean that he didn't want to shriek with each new breath that flooded his lungs. The same way that, no matter how many times he was dragged away into death, the crushing blackness still pressed against the very fibres of his sanity. He didn't know what was worse – the dying, the death, or the coming back – and it was that fear of the known, the knowledge of what was facing him, that choked him every single time.

But sometimes it was what happened afterwards that was more painful than anything he could ever experience in the dying and resurrection process. Sometimes, once the pain had left his throbbing chest and his limbs had stopped screaming, it was the awareness of his surroundings that hurt right down to his very soul. Like all those times waking up on the battlefield, surrounded by the dead and dying; waking up in the car, fumes filling his nostrils and the body of John slouched against him; waking up in a makeshift morgue, maybe a gym, with a sheet covering the lower half of his torso and Gwen crouched over a still figure beside him.

Waking up to an empty bed, the sheets still warm, wet stickiness on his chest and memories of grabbing and grunting and wild eyes still projected fresh in his mind.

His neck was unable to quite hold him up as he told Amy what had happened, his head resting in his hands so that his voice was muffled behind his fingers. It almost managed to disguise the shaking tone of each syllable that fell from his lips, his voice quivering as he remembered lying there, for God-knows how long, and trying to process everything that had gone so _wrong_. Even as he spoke he tried desperately to trace it back, to form some sort of coherence; perhaps it had been him doing something wrong, perhaps them sleeping in the bed was a bad idea, perhaps he should have retconned Ianto and left him to the care of Cardiff medical staff.

Back even further – perhaps he shouldn't have taken Ianto with him in the first place, perhaps he should have ended their whatever-they-had after Tosh and Owen's death, perhaps he should have killed Gray, perhaps he should never have come back, perhaps he should have fired Ianto the moment he found out Lisa was hiding in the basement. Further and further back until he found himself reasoning aloud that, perhaps, this all traced back further than he could quite remember; back to his birth and the tale his mother had told him of how she'd been carrying twins and he'd been the only one to survive. Perhaps, he babbled, looking up from his hands and flicking his eyes between the two young – desperately young – humans, perhaps if he had been the one to die and his twin had survived…

Amy didn't speak throughout the whole process, her hand gently rubbing small circles along his back. A few times she opened her mouth, her eyes filling with water, but she was quickly silenced by a soft look from her husband-to-be. Jack sent him silent thanks; even though he knew that the advancement of human psychic ability had not reached a stage that meant Rory would be able to pick it up, he hoped that the Tardis would catch the waves of thought and relay it in the right direction. He could feel Rory's fingers gently tending to the broken bones and skin of his hand, washing the split flesh and gently manipulating the fingers so that his accelerated healing would knit them back together into the right position.

"I've lived a long time," Jack finished suddenly, his eyes fixing onto the glowing orbs of the flame-haired girl. "I don't want you to think that you can understand, or that you can make it better. I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of victim who can't help himself. _I'm_ not the victim here and I need to stop feeling like one."

Amy's eyes narrowed.

"You can shut up right away about that," she cocked an eyebrow at Jack's protestations. "And you can bang on all you like about the innocence of youth - I've seen four psychiatrists in seventeen years so don't you dare tell me I don't know a little bit about all of this. And Rory, too, he's had to deal with all the screwed-uppedness that I've thrown at him over the years, so don't you _dare _start telling us that we can't even begin to understand. Don't tell us that we're too young. Don't tell us that we can't help you."

Jack stared at her for a few brief moments, his good arm wrapped around his chest and his eyes covered with a slight film of water; the tears that had been hovering ever since he had woken up, but which he had so far refused to let fall. His gazed moved from Amy to Rory, who was busy gently moving his now healed fingers to test that they were in working order.

The young man squirmed slightly under his gaze, before raising his shoulders in a shrug.

"You'd better do what she says. You don't want to make her angry."

Jack dipped his head once more, his hand scraping through his hair and tugging until pain shot through his scalp.

"It's not the first time, you know," he looked up momentarily, before dropping his hand in his lap and letting his gaze focus on his fingers. "You don't live over a hundred and fifty years, especially the kind of life that I've lived, without coming up against this kind of thing at some point. I was a mercenary...I travelled the universe...I was a prisoner of war for God's sake, of course I've experienced...this...before. I was arrested in the late nineteen hundreds, and you can imagine how the inmates like to treat guys locked up for what I was locked up for."

Rory shot Amy a questioning look, his attempts at discretion failing as Jack caught it without even raising his gaze.

"Sodomy."

Rory blanched, shoving his hands in his pockets nervously.

"Oh."

"Don't worry," Jack looked up and tried for a smile. He failed dismally. "You're…what? Twenty? Twenty-one? You can't imagine a world where you'd be locked up for something like that. I couldn't imagine it until I was forced to live it. A part of me would rather forget about it, but it's a part of who I am. You have to remember to move on. Trying to forget doesn't work."

He sniffed suddenly, a solitary tear breaking free from his self-imposed barriers and trickling down his cheek.

"That's why I can't blame him. I didn't tell you this…but he told me that he would stop. Came right down to me and told me that all I had to do was tell him to stop, and he would. But I didn't. I said a lot of things, but _stop _wasn't one of them. If I really didn't want it then I would have told him – that's the way it works. And so _I _let it get too far. It's my fault. I should have known how to deal with the situation; I should have known that I should ask him to stop. And now he's run off because of that. _He's_ the victim here. Just another victim in a long line of victims – that _I _have left behind me. I can't ask for sympathy."

"Tough – you're getting it," Amy smiled and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "This isn't a competition. You can _both _be victims, even if neither of you are willing to admit it. Two broken people can't fix one another. They can help each other, but they can't fix one another – you need to let other people help you do that."

A side of Jack's mouth quirked as she rubbed her thumb along his scapula.

"Maybe. I'm not saying you're right…"

"Even though you know I am."

"…but it's difficult. It _feels_ like _my _fault."

"And that's because you love him, even though you don't realise it – and he'll feel exactly the same way because _he loves you too_. I'm not going to lecture you on that, or force you to admit it, but there's no harm in saying something that you two seem too dense or too stubborn to see for yourselves."

Amy dropped her hand from his arm and rose from the bed, straightening her back briskly before turning to face the two men still sitting on the mattress.

"What he did was wrong, but at the same time _he's _not wrong. He _knows_ it was wrong, but _you_ know that you didn't stop him. I'm not going to try and put a moral compass on this because we'll just go 'round in circles; we're going into all kinds of grey areas here that I can't even begin to understand. But we need to find him. We need to find him and get you both on the right path."

Her elbows crooked, fists planted firmly on her hips as she once again flashed that glare that neither of the two men could even hope to fight.

"Now, are you boys going to help or am I going to have to…"

The door crashed open all of a sudden, a tornado of tweed and brown hair tumbling into the room and cutting off her sentence.

"Doctor?"

"No time for questions!" the Doctor straightened himself, pointing a finger towards the ceiling as he struggled to catch his breath. "I…hang on, what are you doing here?" his extended finger tipped until it was directed towards Jack.

Jack blinked, his elbows still resting on his knees as he balanced his chin on his palm; still, even in his curiosity and confusion, not quite able to carry his own weight.

"I thought you said there was no time for questions?"

"Well, there isn't!" the Doctor clapped his hands and motioned for Rory and Jack to stand up. "No time for dilly-dallying, come on! This is an emergency!"

Jack struggled to his feet as the young couple helped him up, all three of them dragging themselves uncouthly towards the door to follow the Doctor's frantic footsteps. Amy stumbled slightly on the length of Rory's dressing gown; at a nod of reassurance from Jack she unhooked her hand from his arm, gripping the material to hoist it up and away from her feet. Jack sent her a quick smile as she turned back, hoping to reassure her that he could stand on his own feet (whether that was truth or not was yet to be decided).

Finally gaining his balance, Jack flicked his eyes away from Amy and scowled at the back of the manic figure ahead of them, his brow furrowing as he caught him by the shoulder and spun him around.

"_Doctor!_" his voice came out as a snarl, but he didn't try to hold it back. "You _will_ tell me what's going on. _Now_."

The Doctor's face was hard as his gaze met Jack's, the manic joviality (that he displayed even in the most dangerous of circumstances) melting away as he gripped at Jack's hand.

"Something's happened. I can feel it. I think there's something you need to tell me, but you're going to have to talk on the way," he said, gently yet firmly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. "Because there is something very, _very _wrong going on here. And I think we might just be too late."

x

x

_Ianto could feel something pressing down on him, a strong pressure against his back as he lay still. His front smarted from where he had been scraped across the ground, dragged by his hair into this small room. It was a room he'd never been in before. Everything about it was unfamiliar, and that unfamiliarity was one of the most frightening things. _

_Not the breath tickling the back of his neck. _

_Not the heavy weight pressing him down into the mattress. _

_But the crushing pressure of fear and the unknown, forcing the air from his lungs and smarting like a fire against his brain. _

_He'd thought that he knew what to expect from the madman – thought he'd known exactly what would happen now he was once again in those insane clutches. And now - now he wasn't so sure. And that was a fear that was gripping him tightly...refusing to let him even make an attempt at escape  
_

_The madman had never really appeared that strong – he was, compared to Jack, incredibly skinny and weak, his whole frame lanky – but Ianto always knew that he could be overpowered by him. Those first few days it had been the chain, the knife and the nanogenes – now he did it with words and looks and simple breaths huffed into the shell of his ear. _

_It was like a spell that was breathed into his ear, an incantation that turned his limbs to jelly. He'd long ago lost the shame that he should feel for that – it was pathetic, really, but it was easier to surrender rather than fight it. Survival was not survival of the fittest, but survival of the smartest. And Ianto had learned how to survive. And, whatever it looked like in television shows and films and even in the minds of some of his more enthusiastic colleagues, survival wasn't about who could shout and fight the loudest. _

_He thought he'd known how to survive. _

_But the madman had not behaved in the way that was compatible with Ianto's survival. Ianto's survival had always been based on what he had learned, what he had garnered, and Ianto had learnt that the madman was going to have his way with him. _

_He hadn't. _

_Instead he had dragged him to this room – that had been expected, of course - but then, despite all his promises of "fun," he had wrapped him in a sheet to cover his naked form. Almost protecting his modesty in a bizarre, terrifying way. And then, to top all of the confusion, he had lain down; half his body spread over Ianto in what the Welshman could only really describe as a comforting, affectionate embrace. _

_The weight of his arms encircling him frightened him more than anything else. Kept him pinioned to the bed with more strength than any chains. _

_Then there was that hand, the hand that was reached out into a tiny case that was lying open beside them. He recognised it as a medical kit. He'd seen enough of them in his time. But he didn't know why it was there. And that was what scared him, too. _

"_I'm so sorry," the voice that was crushing him to the bed breathed into his ear, a hand roaming across his back. "I didn't want this, but it's the only way." _

_Ianto squeezed his eyes shut. _

I don't want to do this.

_It was something he'd heard so many times before. A child curled in the corner, a beckoning finger – walking towards the hand, smelling the leather, head bowed…_

This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.

_The smacking against him, the blind, foolish obedience as he didn't even try to run away from the pain that was swimming through his veins. _

It has to be done.

_He watched as the hand curled around something that glinted as he pulled it from the kit, the light reflecting from the shiny material as it neared his skin. There was something wet falling onto the back of his neck – a tear, he realised – and a small sobbing sound as the madman pulled back and pressed the object into Ianto's side. _

"_I didn't want to be this. I don't want to do this. But I have to. It's the only way. I'm so sorry."_

_Ianto knew, in a sane world, that he would easily overpower the madman and run to his freedom. _

_But, as something sharp split his skin and punctured deep into his side, he knew that that meant nothing. _

_Because there was no such thing as a sane world. _

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The Doctor barely seemed to be listening as Jack, Amy and Rory blurted out a few hurried sentences of explanation, his bobbing head the only sign that he had listened or taken note of a word that they had said. His eyes stayed intently focused as he led his three companions on an almost unintelligible route through the bowels of the Tardis; dipping in and out of rooms, skidding around corridors and brandishing his sonic screwdriver in front of him like some kind of futuristic metal detector.

"Doctor…"

"_Shhh!_" the Doctor put a finger to his lips, silencing Amy's questioning tone as he flicked his gaze around yet another corner, his whole body tensed as if expecting an attack at any moment. Upon finding the corridor empty he beckoned them through, waiting for them all to make their way around the bend before turning to face his oldest companion.

"Jack…" he stopped suddenly, his ears pricking for a few brief moments before he dropped his head in a quiet nod. "Right. Jack, we're close to your room, so I suggest you pop in and grab that…" he winced slightly "…gun of yours. As much as it pains me to say it, or even think it, your way might be the only way of getting around this hullaballoo."

He took a few more steps and led them around yet another corner into a more familiar corridor. At the Doctor's frantic beckoning, Jack quickly opened the door and slipped into the room; scrabbling around frantically, he eventually found the weapon, clipped the holster securely around his waist and exited the room feeling slightly more confident than he had when he'd entered. The familiar, soothing weight of the gun – a Webley, bought new to replace the old faithful that had been lost in the Hub explosion - tended to have that effect on his self-confidence, as if the pressure against his hip was able to push away a little of his uncertainty and fear.

The Doctor nodded, a look of regret passing over his features, as he saw the holster nestled comfortably against the material of Jack's slacks.

"Good, you've got it," he grimaced slightly, waggling his tongue as if an awful taste had flooded his mouth. "And you have no idea how much I wish I didn't have to say that."

"I've got some idea," Jack patted his gun fondly, nodding down the corridor with one eyebrow raised. "So…are you going to tell me what's going on? Talk and walk, Doctor, if you want to – but either way, talk."

The Time Lord looked at him for a split second before continuing on their journey, his coat and hair rippling through the air as he took off at an almost unbelievable speed. His screwdriver remained outstretched as he seemed to fragment his attention equally between the task at hand and the job of flinging his explanation back over his shoulder.

"The Tardis," he shouted, casting a quick glance back to check that his three friends were keeping up with his pace. "She locked me in the console room. She's never done that before. I could tell there was something wrong on board the ship – call it a sixth sense if you want to, not that you necessarily do, but never mind about that – so I went to investigate and the doors were locked. Completely shut. Even the sonic wouldn't work. Took me a while to work it out, but I worked out that something _was_ wrong but it was something going wrong that she didn't want me to deal with. Or something like that. It didn't make much sense and it still doesn't."

He stopped suddenly, holding out his hand to stop them. His head craned forward, screwdriver brandished firmly between his fingers.

"And then, suddenly..." he continued, not even bothering to look their way as he spoke. "...the doors were unlocked and she's telling me where to go. Don't ask me how, but I knew on instinct that it was to do with your Jones – and then I find you, a wreck, sitting between Mr and Mrs Pond, I put two and two together to make five trillion and…_wazam_…explosion of possibilities. None of them good. Hence…"

He spun around briefly, beckoning Jack forward and motioning with a slight tilt of his head; encouraging him to get the Webley aimed and ready to fire.

"…gun. Now hold tight."

The Doctor took one step forward and then another, moving slowly towards a door that was positioned discreetly at the corner of the room. His ears pricked as if listening to some kind of instruction, concentration etched on his face. Frustration and panic swirled just beneath the surface of Jack's veneer, clutching tightly at his stomach as if someone was twisting at his insides.

"Doctor," he said desperately. "If anything happens to him…we have to find him…"

"I know," the Doctor shushed him. "Trust me, I know. I've grown fond of your Jones, as much as I'm not sure he likes me. Like you predicted. But anyway…" he motioned towards the room. "…the Tardis is indicating that he's in here. And there is - or was - someone with him."

He turned back as he finished running his sonic along the length of the door, a serious look spreading across his features.

"You know who that's going to be. Alonso's gone out onto the planet surface for the night, I checked. So there's only one other person who it could possibly be. Add that to the fact that I already know who it is. I checked the internal camera system."

Jack's face had hardened, a fire beginning to flicker in the depths of his eyes. There was something spreading out in his chest – a determination to succeed where before he had failed. To be the hero that he wished he had been able to be so far. He was Captain Jack Harkness after all, and yet he had never been able to save the one person whom he should _always_ have saved.

So many times he felt he had failed the Welshman; so many times he had failed to do what he should do. How often had he not been there when he was needed? How often had he ignored, or not seen, or simply not taken in because he'd known, somewhere inside of him, that taking it in would be more complicated than he dared to face?

There was a bubbling deep in his core, like lava gradually pushing through his body until every single nerve ending was on fire. A purpose bulldozed forward in his brain, overtaking every other thought and emotion that would normally nestle there.

Suddenly, it seemed as though his life had never been simpler.

He was _going _to save Ianto this time. He had to. And then everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't something that needed thinking about.

Saving him. Saving Ianto Jones. That was all that really mattered – that was all that should have mattered for a long, long time.

The Doctor barely seemed to notice as Jack stepped forward; his attention was focused almost entirely on the door in front of him.

"Now, we know that he's volatile, unpredictable," the Doctor continued, tapping at his forehead thoughtfully with the screwdriver. "So we need to think about this. Whatever we do, it would be a really, _really_ bad idea to just barrel in there with guns blaz…"

He was cut off as Jack pushed past him, gun cocked as he kicked the door from its hinges and barrelled, eyes blazing, into the room…

…and before the Doctor could even begin to roll his eyes, a look of abject horror seemed to crush Jack Harkness to the ground.

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_Thank you so much for reading!_

_Any comments you have would be wonderful...but chocolate of the hot, drinkable variety would also be greatly appreciated. Many thanks!_


	24. Chapter 23

_A/N: I was determined to get this one finished before Christmas, because I promised to be quick following the awful cliffhanger I left you with at the end of the last chapter. Also, because I felt this was a brilliant way to leave you before Christmas. I am currently working on a one-shot especially for Christmas, a proper piece of Christmas fluff, but I also wanted to leave this fiction on a good note for the holiday season. A quick warning: I did shed a few tears myself whilst writing this, but I hope you'll work your way through it because it really is worth it. This one is worth the slog. I promise you that. _

_Note: this chapter is deliberately fast paced. Please don't worry if everything seems very confused. This is intentional. I am in Jack's head here, and he has no idea what is going on. All will be revealed in due course.  
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_A Merry Christmas to all of my readers, and a massive thank you for still being here on this journey with me. _

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 23**

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Jack's gun clattered to the floor as he leapt towards the bed, the ominous and rarely-heard sound of the weapon falling from his hand echoing through the chamber behind him. It seemed to send a shiver into the very walls of the Tardis; the air around them appeared to shimmer a little as he moved, as if someone had run a gentle, teasing finger along the spine of the timeless ship.

Jack barely noticed.

He also barely noticed that the room in which he now moved was the room that had once been Rose Tyler's bedroom. The sheets that were now stained a deep crimson were sheets on which he had sat with the young human; teasing and playful, but never getting as far as a lesser-him would have liked. As he crawled onto the mattress it seemed to absorb him; he felt it dip with a familiar weight beneath the points of his knees, his body pressing comfortably down as if the Tardis had taken a memory print of his form.

When Jack finally reached the figure wrapped in the once-white sheet, his first reaction was one of relief. He could see the gentle rise and fall of the chest beneath the satin swathes, his eyes drawn to the movement like metal to a magnet. He shifted closer; the reassurance of the breaths had encouraged him to slow down momentarily, moving as gently as he could for fear of the damage that he could still inflict.

"Ianto?"

He peeled back the sheet a little, searching for the source of the blood. Eyelids fluttered slightly as the name fell from his lips, lashes brushing against cheekbones but not quite managing to force their way open. A droplet of blood had gathered at the corner of the cracked lips, a tiny stain caught ominously on the ragged skin. It was tiny; a miniscule flash of red that nevertheless sent a wave of panic into Jack's heart.

"_Ianto?_"

Eventually, Jack's fingers managed to peel back the sheet until he found the injury, his shaking fingers struggling to perform the simple task of manoeuvring the light fabric away from Ianto's pale skin. The blood drained from his face as the last few threads fell away, revealing an elongated, yet barely noticeable split on the surface of Ianto's flesh.

It wasn't a large wound by anyone's account – if Jack hadn't been looking for it, he might have mistaken it for a scratch and nothing more. But Jack Harkness had spent enough time in combat situations - enough time living and dying in a dark world - to know that the size had no bearing on the severity. It was, after all, the thinnest of gashes which had killed fifteen hundred people on the Titanic; he had been there on that fateful night and he knew the damage that a seemingly obscure puncture could cause.

The sheer amount of blood which was seeping from the wound told him all that he needed to know, before he even had the chance to gently prise the tattered flesh apart and take a deeper look to confirm his growing dread.

"No…no…no…" he chanted softly, jerking his hands away from the wound to tenderly cup Ianto's cheek with his bloodstained fingers. "Ianto…Ianto, open your eyes…open your eyes for me…"

Again, the lashes fluttered slightly against the pale skin at the command. Jack was able to catch the tiniest hint of blue, before the blood loss and other ramifications of the injury forced them closed again. The immortal cursed under his breath, Ianto's weight heavy against the sheets as Jack rolled him onto his back in the hope of a more fruitful attempt at reviving the young man.

There was a shuffling from the other side of the room, feet moving hurriedly towards them. Jack barely noticed as he ran his crimson-painted thumb against Ianto's lips, pushing away the ever increasing pool of blood that had gathered in the corner of his mouth.

"Is there anything I can…?"

"No," Jack snapped, his voice harsh and crackling against his throat as he struggled to hold together the cracking dam that protected his emotions. "You're just a nurse. Of course there's nothing you can do. Even if we'd have gotten here in time, how could you even hope to patch this up?"

Rory took a step back as Jack's tone hint him like a punch to the jaw. He swallowed hard, shivering slightly as the very air seemed thick with the fear that was permeating Jack's voice.

"Maybe I should…"

"_No_!" Jack all but yelled, one tear gathering in the corner of his eye before trickling torturously slowly down his cheek. "How many times do you have to hear it before you back off?"

Amy reached forward gently and pulled her fiancé back, hooking an arm around his waist so that she could lean into his warmth. As well as getting some form of mutual comfort from the gesture, it also anchored them both in place and stopped them from giving into their base instincts…the instincts that told them to rush forward and do anything they could to help the two men sprawled across the bed.

Jack's gaze dropped back to the leaking wound, his fingers tangling desperately in Ianto's hair as his other hand pressed down in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. He knew that whatever it was had punctured deep, drawing blood from far down within Ianto's body. The way that the wound was angled indicated that the knife – or whatever it was – had been driven in with surgical precision and then sliced across, cutting through skin, flesh, tissue and organs alike. It was a genius cut – one that, a long time ago, Jack would have been proud to have made himself.

That's how he knew that this was going to kill Ianto Jones.

He hadn't been able to save him after all. For a brief moment in his life, saving Ianto Jones had been all that had mattered. And now even that was gone. Now what should he do?

A few more tears spilled out onto his cheeks as his face remained steady, the tenseness in his forehead the only sign that he was struggling to hold himself together. His hand dropped away from the wound, abandoning any pretence that the inevitable could be defeated; instead, he curled one arm beneath Ianto's shoulders, drawing him onto his lap in a painfully familiar embrace and cradling the pale head against his chest.

"Ianto…" fingers caressed softly against his cheek, spreading blood like war-paint across his jaw. "Please, just open your eyes. Just for a few minutes. Please."

The eyes remained shut, the gentle _rise-fall _motions of his chest growing shallower with each tear that dripped from Jack's cheek. Jack swallowed hard, carding his fingers through Ianto's hair before closing his eyes and pressing their foreheads together.

_Please._

There was s sudden movement against Jack's cheek; the gentle tickling of eyelashes against his tear-slicked skin. His head shot up, breaking the soft contact they had had to stare into weary eyes – eyes that he wasn't quite sure were grey or blue, but that he was definitely certain could be fluorescent pink for all he cared at that particular moment.

Ianto's throat bobbed tiredly, the effort it took for that one movement evident in the contours of his face. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice low and almost intelligible as his vocal chords struggled to vibrate.

"Jack, I'm s…"

He stopped suddenly as Jack shushed him. A finger extended to cover his mouth whilst the other hand manoeuvred its way around him to stroke at his chest, gently massaging the flesh as if this would encourage the air into his lungs. Jack's face contorted, his jaw tightening as the dam inside him cracked a little more; a deep split running along the length and forcing the carefully constructed walls apart.

"You don't need to say that," he said softly, his voice hitching a little as Ianto's eyelids fluttered dangerously towards unconsciousness. "I know you didn't mean it. I know, and I'm so sorry I let it get that far. I didn't mean for it to get that far. I didn't mean for it to come to this. I tried. I really did. I tried so hard to save you, but I guess I never could in the end."

Jack closed his eyes, his grip on Ianto tightening as he heard the rasp of air in his lungs growing thin.

"I never said it last time, but I meant to. I promise you I meant to. But it was too much like saying goodbye. It was easier to tell myself that I didn't, because whether I said it or not I was still going to lose you. It wouldn't have made any difference. So I pretended I didn't. I tried to forget. But I couldn't and…"

He was babbling, he knew he was, but it was like a torrent of water had built up behind the barriers and was now pushing through. Every single time he had failed to tell someone how he really felt…every time he had wasted a single second with a loved one…every single time he had failed and never said he was sorry. So many lovers and friends and colleagues, all etched onto the face of the man in his arms. And, in the end, Jack hadn't been able to hold it back. Because, deep down, he was human - as much as he tried to disguise that as best as he could.

Ianto's pulse seemed to slow slightly beneath his fingers, the heartbeat beneath his hand juddering under his touch. Jack's breath hitched as he felt the life slowly ebb away, gathering pace as it moved further towards the edge…towards the drop between life and death that Jack had fallen down so many times.

"…I promise I won't ever try and forget you again. I'll never forget you. You'll always be there. I don't want you to go, but I'm not gonna waste time this time telling you to stay, because I know you can't, and it's more important that you know that…I do…I mean…"

He licked his lips, a sob burrowing its way somewhere in his throat and gripping on with a painful force.

"I do love you, Ianto Jones. Even if I never showed it too well, I don't want you to die again not knowing that."

The words seemed to register, a tiny flicker of emotion licking at the corners of Ianto's eyes before his eyelids closed. The heartbeat beneath Jack's hand slowed to a snail's pace, stuttering a few times beneath his rib cage before coming to an abrupt halt. As the rasping of breath in Ianto's lungs was silenced, Jack lowered his head to bury his face into the cooling neck; curling his arms around the still frame and melding his now openly sobbing body against the cold flesh of his dead lover.

Because that's what he was. He was dead. Jack had felt the life leave him, had felt his body slacken...had maybe even felt the moment when the cooling process began. And Jack wanted to hold onto his body and howl. He wanted to hold the limp form in his arms, he wanted to kick and thrash and scream against the unfairness of it all. He'd never had the chance to mourn Ianto when he had been killed by the 456, but damned if he wasn't going to do it now.

He was going to grieve for Ianto, just like Ianto deserved to be grieved for. He was going to grieve for Ianto because he wanted to grieve for Ianto. He was going to cry until he had nothing more to cry, and then he was going to cry a bit more. All he wanted to do was scream and never stop screaming.

Because Ianto was dead.

He was _dead_.

Jack clasped Ianto's still body as close as he could, letting the sobs shake him to his very core. He let the grief wash over him like he had never allowed it to before. He let himself drown in it...

...but his grief was cut short as Ianto jerked against him suddenly, his whole body convulsing in Jack's arms as a harsh croak filled the air.

_And then Ianto Jones opened his eyes_.

Jack almost dropped him in shock, the tears still lying fresh against his face as he scooted out of the way of Ianto's thrashing limbs. His eyes widened as he shuffled back on the bed, knees cocked and weight supported on his arms, like a child trying to escape from an angry parent.

Ianto's eyes were wide and unseeing as he lay on the bed, his hands flying to the wound in his side whilst his face contorted into a writhing mass of one emotion…

_Pain_.

A gargled cry flew from his throat as a glow surrounded the gash in his flesh, the golden beings visibly taking a firm hold of the split flesh and wrenching it inwards. Tears rolled down Ianto's cheeks as the wound began to knit back together, his limbs shaking and his fists clenched against his side in a futile attempt to stem against the pain that was obviously flooding his body. The rasp of air against his windpipe sang out into the room – even in Jack's shell-shocked state, the sound of each breath permeating the air was like a symphony to his ears.

Eventually, a whimper mingled in with the breaths as Ianto's body stilled, the exhaustion shining through in the inadvertent sound pulling Jack back into reality. He scooted forward on the bed, his tears pulling at his face uncomfortably as they dried on his skin. He brushed at his cheek with the back of his hand, chasing away some of the lingering tears before laying a gentle hand on Ianto's shoulder.

"Ianto?"

Ianto's eyes shot open, his whole body jerking into a sitting position as his chest heaved…_in…out…in…out_…with the ferocity of a long distance runner. His grey-blue eyes scanned the room, pupils flicking from side to side as he seemed to run through everything in his mind; information scrolled across his face, entering his brain and being processed with a speed that left Jack feeling exhausted.

"Ianto…" he tried again, squeezing down on the shoulder of the young man, feeling the warmth spreading out from his flesh.

The Welshman's eyes moved to rest on his face, his whole frame tightening as his eyes bored into those of the older man. He glanced down at the hand resting on his shoulder, watching as the fingers caressed his skin before raising his gaze once more to Jack's face. Blue gaze met blue gaze for a few, brief, incomprehensible moments.

And then Ianto did something that Jack had not seen him do for a very long time.

He burst into tears.

Jack's arms were around him in a second, tears falling from his own eyes as he rocked the convulsing man against his frame. His eyelids slid shut as he felt, rather than heard, the heavy sobs against his shoulder. Words were mouthed against his flesh, the timbre low and shaky and resonating right through to his bones; the syllables were forced from somewhere in the depths of the sobs, every single breath racking at Ianto's body.

"Jack…" he sobbed, his hands coming up to clasp around Jack's shoulders and clutch tightly at his shirt. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…I didn't want to…"

"I know," Jack closed his eyes, breathing in the warmth that was emanating from Ianto's skin. "I know."

He let out a breath, rocking the young man against him as reassuringly as he could. He felt the heart beating against his own, felt the strong thrumming of the pulse beneath his skin - a beautiful drumbeat, skipping along with the awe-inspiring sound of _life_. Each beat telling him that Ianto wasn't dead. Each thump, each thrum singing a single line...

_Ianto was alive._

"I'm okay," a tiny smile played on his lips as he felt the young man calm down ever so slightly. "Really. I'm okay."

And it was true.

Although he had no idea what had just happened, he really couldn't summon the energy to care. Although he knew that they had a long, hard and possibly dark road still to follow, nothing else seemed to matter at that moment in time. As he held Ianto's quietly shaking form against him, their bodies melded together in a way that Jack had feared he would never feel again, everything else seemed to pale into insignificance.

Because, whatever else happened, Ianto Jones was alive.

And that was enough for now.

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**TBC...**

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_Thank you so much for reading. I hope I have left you all in a good place for Christmas. _

_Please leave me any comments you have, as they will be the best Christmas present I could possibly get. _

_But, for now, all I can say is: Nadolig Llawen a Blwyddyn Newydd Dda!_


	25. Chapter 24

_A/N: Greetings! I hope you all had a good Christmas and a good celebration of the New Year_. _This chapter has been written very slowly, and with much hair pulling and distress - yes, that's how I spent my New Year. Well, actually, I worked on New Year's Eve. Seven and a half hours straight at a bar without sitting down; therefore, I ache absolutely everywhere. Which didn't make trying to get this one out any easier. Things still aren't explained - why did Ianto come back, what about Gray, what will happen? - because I felt this chapter was necessary first. After Jack's admission in Chapter 23, they needed to sit down and talk. And this was the result. God, it was hard work. They don't like talking about these things. But they'll get there. Kind of. I hope it rings true.  
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_There is a reference in this chapter to my Christmas Fic: Fried Chicken Christmas. It's not necessary to have read it, but it might mean more if you do (it's on my profile page - just click the name above)_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 24**

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"No!"

The pained cry rippled through the air, seeming to vibrate every single atom of the room with the sharpness of its despair. Rory turned automatically, his hand tightening around Amy's slender fingers as he pulled her protectively behind him. He felt her fight against the movement, grasping at his shoulder and pulling him back against her in an attempt to resist. But he held firm, his protective instincts taking over – despite the annoyed retribution that Amy would no doubt exact – as he recognised the manic edge that clung to the voice.

There was a flurry of movement as a figure shot past them, falling from behind one of the curtains adorning the vast room. Rory's hold on Amy tightened as the familiar figure stumbled to the ground, his legs tangling in the sheets as his eyes glared at the two men on the bed. Amy tensed in his arms as she watched the silent showdown, her whole body coiling inwards as if prepared to spring at any moment in defence of the men she now called friends.

"No!"

Desperation thrummed through the voice as the figure spun around, his eyes glistening and a pained snarl curling at his lips. Fingers scrambled desperately at the bloodstained sheets as he struggled to right himself, his feet slipping on the floor as he thrashed on the ground. All the while, his eyes never seemed to leave Jack – pure, unadulterated hatred shot straight into the eyes of his older brother.

"He was supposed to die. Why didn't he die?"

Rory watched as Jack stared down into those wild eyes, his face blank and his arms tugging Ianto tightly into his neck. The young man's face was buried in the join between Jack's throat and shoulder blade, his whole body trembling as he recognised the voice. His arms clung to the back of Jack's shirt as if trying to hide himself away in the older man's body; perhaps he felt that if he held on tightly enough he would melt into his flesh. Perhaps he believed that if he refused to turn away from Jack's warm frame, then his tormenter really wouldn't be there – that it would all be a dream.

It was a childish vulnerability that seemed to have swamped him completely and utterly. Rory felt his heart break slightly as he watched. This man - who was older than him, who had stayed strong in the face of horrors he couldn't even imagine - seemed as innocent and terrified as a young child trying desperately to escape the monsters hiding in his wardrobe.

There was another flurry of movement as the man on the floor managed to right himself, the sheet fluttering to the floor as he untangled it from his fingers. He bolted for the door, confusion rooting the occupants of the room to the floor; unable to raise a finger to stop him as he fled the scene. Everything had happened so quickly, so suddenly, that even the Doctor stood gaping – his bow tie seemed to hang limply at has neck, the very roots of his hair losing some of their vibrant body as his eyes flicked from the open door to his companions.

It was Jack who seemed to shake himself out of the stupor first. He blinked a few times, emotion suddenly pouring from his formerly dull eyes.

"Doctor…" he spoke quietly, his pupils swimming desperately in the sea of blue as they fixed on the Doctor's ancient eyes. "Doctor…please, you have to find him…"

The Doctor looked back sadly, taking a cautious step towards the trembling bundle of limbs on the bed.

"I know," he said gently, holding out a tentative hand. "But we have to think about this. The Tardis will keep him tracked, will make sure he's okay. We have to find out what just happened. Something is very, very wrong, and we need to find out what it is."

"Wrong?" Jack's hands tightened around the figure in his arms, his hand cupping the back of Ianto's neck as his grip grew ferociously. "How can it be wrong?"

"People don't just come back, Jack. You know that."

"But why is it wrong?" Jack snarled, his voice and posture almost feral as he stared the Doctor down – forcing the Timelord to take a cautious step backwards. "Maybe, for once, something in the Universe has gone right. Do you ever think of that? Or is it always doom and gloom with you?"

"Jack, just listen…"

"Why can't you just stop trying to work everything out and listen? He's here, he's alive, and I don't care how. Not right now. All I care about is finding my brother. Why is that so difficult for you to do? Why can't you, just this once, think about what…?"

"I'll go."

Rory's voice split the air, surprise flitting onto the features of everyone into the room as they turned to face him. Amy twisted in his arms, pulling away at his grasp in order to glare at him with blazing eyes.

"You'll what?"

"I'll go," he licked his lips and nodded, summoning as much confidence as he could into his posture as he turned to lock eyes with the Doctor. "Doctor, can you…I don't know…track something?"

Those ancient eyes seemed to bore into his for a few uncomfortable moments, each second stretching out into an eternity as Rory shuffled his feet nervously on the floor. Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision; he reached into his pocket and pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, fiddling with it for a few brief moments before placing it confidently into Rory's hand.

"Use this. You'll know what to do. I'll be at the main console," his voice was serious as clapped the young man on the shoulder, squeezing briefly before turning to face Jack. "We'll find him, and we'll find out what's happened. I promise. We'll sort this. But I have to ask: what do you want us to do? When we find him. We need to know. It's up to you. Your choice."

Jack fingers seemed to curl in Ianto's hair – the younger man's face was still buried in his shoulder, as if he were afraid to raise his gaze and see is tormentor was still there – his hand tightening as if he sought answers in the warmth of his scalp.

"I don't know," he whispered finally, his eyes moving to rest on Rory with a desperation that melted the man's heart. "Just find him."

Rory swallowed.

"I will."

There was a sudden movement behind him.

"So will I."

"Amy…"

"Shut up," she hissed, her hand reaching out and twisting painfully at his wrist. "I'm not going to stand here like a good little soon-to-be wife and watch you go. I'm not going to stand back and watch you go off into this on your own. I can't do it. Besides," she smiled suddenly, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Who's going to hold your hand in the dark, you big idiot?"

A smile spread across his own face as he nudged her affectionately, pulling in his hand so that she was nestled confidently beside him. He should never have expected her to say. They fought beside one another, just as they always had. He'd always fought with her against her demons, standing beside her to face the people who made her life a misery; sometimes dressing up as the Doctor to dull her heartache, if only for a little bit. And she'd always been there for him, standing up to the bullies who made him a target because of her.

Equals. Fighters. Just as they always should be. As they came together, Amy shot Jack what she hoped was a confident glance, her head nodding reassuringly.

"We'll find him," she said softly. "We promise."

A tiny smile spread across Jack's lips.

"I know you will."

The trust – _perhaps misplaced_, Rory thought nervously – which permeated his voice lingered in the air, settling a heavy responsibility on the shoulders of the two young humans. Rory could feel the weight against him, crippling down on his spine and threatening to bend him in two. But Amy's hand at his shoulder kept him steady, forcing him upright. He glanced at her, her confident smile sending a wave of reassurance right through him.

Her smile was like a drug, immediately sending a wave of endorphins shooting through his entire system. He knew that maybe that would be perceived as cheesy; or maybe, even, slightly pathetic that he needed her beside him to make him strong. But he always had needed her. It wasn't something he was ashamed of. It wasn't something he should be ashamed of it.

It was as if, when she smiled at him like that, he could do anything. And he was so, so proud of the fact that he could stand beside her.

And so, with a final nod towards the Doctor, he let her take hold of his hand and pull him from the room.

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Jack's fingers gripped tightly around Ianto's protruding shoulder blade as they stumbled back to his room. The flesh around the bone had swelled considerably in the weeks since they had found him; it was more rounded, less harsh, than it had been in those first terrible days. But Jack knew it would take a while for Ianto's still considerably malnourished frame to regain that lean roundedness that it had had in his most contented times.

After Rory and Amy had left their room on the quest to find Gray – Jack's heart constricted a little at the mention of that name – it hadn't been long before Ianto had been desperate to rid himself of the blood stained sheets that were still wrapped around him. Jack, too, had been all too willing to remove them both from the crimson, bloodied reminder of the tragedy that had so very nearly overtaken them – and from which they had so inexplicably been spared.

Jack didn't want to think about what had just happened. That would come later. And every second that the blood stained sheet remained in his vision was a second more that he was forced to think about it. If he could move it and forget, for a brief moment, that Ianto had been killed, then maybe he could halt the torrent of questions that were shooting through his brain.

His fingers remained tightly gripped on Ianto's shoulder as they neared the doorway to his room, his muscles unable to relax their hold even when a slight hiss of pain was pushed from between the Welshman's lips. Jack's mouth was dry with every step they took – whatever had happened, he knew how much dying and coming back took its toll on the body. Ianto had insisted on walking back, despite the obvious uncertainty of his footsteps as he leant into the older man's torso. Jack really hadn't expected anything different from him; especially when his face had blushed a deep, ashamed crimson as he'd pulled away from Jack's neck, realisation dawning of just how vulnerable he had shown himself to be.

The effort of staying upright was so great that he had forgotten he was still naked. At least, that's how it appeared. Perhaps, Jack thought suddenly, he just didn't care anymore.

As he kicked the door and propped it open with his foot, Jack shifted his grip to Ianto's elbow; allowing him more freedom as he struggled through the open doorway, his feet stumbling as Jack steadied him with one hand. He stayed with his back pressed firmly against the door, even when the trembling, unsteady figure had made his way fully into the room.

He hoped to give Ianto as much space as he needed; to not crowd him or pressure him, and to give him some sort of independence following his intense helplessness back in Rose's room. But he threw out a worried hand as Ianto stumbled, his whole body on autopilot in its attempts to catch the swaying body.

"I can do it," Ianto batted Jack's helping hands away, twisting his body so that he could worm his way out of the fretful grasp. "I don't need your help."

The older man snatched his hand away, turning quickly to busy himself with shutting the door – anything to distract himself from Ianto's stumbling figure as he made his way to the bed. He could hear footsteps as he clicked the door firmly into place and locked it slowly; the sound of feet beating out an unsteady and distorted rhythm on the thrumming Tardis floor, followed by the gentle creaking as a weight settled onto the mattress.

He turned back, offering a weak smile at the hunched figure.

"Maybe you should…" he stopped suddenly, licking his lips as Ianto refused to meet his gaze. "I don't know. Maybe you should rest for a while."

"I don't need to."

"It's just, I know that it takes a lot out of you…that, I mean…doing what you did."

"What?" Ianto finally raised his gaze, a smile cracking his face – the kind of smile that could make blood turn to ice. "Raping you? Killing you?"

Jack felt something catch in his throat, a lump welling up and blocking his airways with a persistence that threatened to break through his mental barrier. But he swallowed it back, forcing his crumbled shields back together as he took a step towards his silent lover.

Was he his lover? Anymore? Ever? Jack didn't know. Maybe he never would. But it was the need to make sure that this man – lover or not – knew that he was not the monster he thought he was, that kept his feet moving slowly forwards despite the uncertainty.

Ianto lowered his gaze as he approached, his neck snapping to the side as he twisted to avert his face. Jack pondered for a few moments; his hand itched to reach forward and cup that face, to tilt it towards him so that he could look into those eyes and try to pour the forgiveness into him. But he held back, tucking his hand into his pocket as he stopped next to the bed.

"I meant dying," he whispered softly. "Dying and coming back. I know it's hard…"

Ianto remained silent.

Jack rocked on his heels for a few moments, his teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek until a metallic, bloody taste filled his mouth.

"How much did you hear…?" he crouched down at the corner of the bed, lowering himself so that Ianto would have to look down in order to meet his gaze. "When you were dying, I mean? Did you hear any of it…a little bit…how much did you…?"

"All of it."

Jack swallowed hard, his eyes boring into Ianto's face as he implored the young man to look at him.

"All of it?"

"Yeah," Ianto looked up briefly, his fingers tangling together in his lap before he dropped his gaze again. "Every last word."

Shuffling forward slightly, Jack remained crouched on the floor as he reached out a hand to settle lightly on Ianto's knee.

"So, what do you think?"

Ianto glanced down, his gaze fixed on Jack's hand for a few brief seconds before he shifted his knee away from the touch.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

A frown creased Jack's features as he snatched his hand back to his chest, as if Ianto's aversion had burnt him.

"Ianto, I said…"

"I know what you said," Ianto ran a hand through his hair, the strands curling tightly around his fingers as he tugged. "And this isn't a film, Jack. The world doesn't shift just because you say…that. I'm not that naïve. Everything's still the same as it was."

Jack's frown increased, his whole face contorting as he straightened his legs – righting himself and wrapping his arms around his torso confusedly.

"I meant it."

"I know you did," Ianto looked up at him, a quick flash of a smile dancing on his lips before he lowered his head again. Jack began to chew at the inside of his cheek again as Ianto broke their eye contact, his head dipping as he tried to chase Ianto's gaze.

"So what's the problem?"

A sigh rattled against Ianto's teeth, his fingers scraping through his hair as he closed his eyes.

"The problem is," he swallowed suddenly, his fingers tightening so that his scalp was pulled taut. "That night when you found Lisa, I meant it when I said I hated you. I meant it when I told you that I was going to leave you to suffer and die. I meant every word when I said it."

Comprehension began to dawn in the back of Jack's mind, his face crumpling slightly as he realised just what Ianto meant.

"Ianto…"

"You always want what you can't have, Jack. I know that about you better than you know it yourself. You always have. You can't resist. If something's suddenly off limits then that's what you want."

Jack shook his head.

"No, that's not it."

"Isn't it?" Ianto looked up again, his gaze lingering searchingly on the older man's face. "That's why you chased Gwen. It's why you love the Doctor. It's why you hired me in the first place: not because of what nearly happened that night in the warehouse, but because I walked away."

Ianto's tongue snaked out of his mouth, swiping along his lip and catching at the flakes of dry skin that lingered there.

"Jack," his tongue slid back into his mouth as he whispered softly. "We're adults. We're men. We're not naïve teenage girls who think that the world changes when someone says those words. We know better than that. _I _know better than that. You can be honest with me. I promise I won't break."

There was a silence which seemed to stretch for an eternity as Ianto began to play with his fingers, his gaze focused on the movements as he picked unattractively at his nails. Jack waited for a few moments, his eyes boring into the still frame and passive, emotionless face – he racked his thoughts, scraping through his disjointed mind for something to say that could refute Ianto's seeming infallible logic. Because everything he said he was true. Every conclusion he came to was logical and reasonable – but life wasn't logical and reasonable. That wasn't how things were worked. Human beings were more complicated than that.

A sudden burst of inspiration seemed to grip at the back of his mind, taking hold and shaking his thoughts violently. With the new idea forming on his lips, Jack took a step forward and sat down tentatively. His weight dipped the bed and his arm brushed gently against Ianto's elbow, instigating as much contact as he dared. The young man kept his gaze focused on the floor by his feet, his fingers now clenching tightly at the edge of the mattress as Jack edged towards him.

"Hey," Jack shifted uncomfortably, knocking his leg against Ianto's in a way that might have been accidental. "Look at me. Just for one second. Please."

It was only at the last word that Ianto finally looked up, his eyes focusing on the skin just below Jack's eyes. It was as if he wasn't quite able to catch his gaze; not quite able, or perhaps not quite willing, to let their eyes meet. Jack smiled as best he could, nudging Ianto softly with his elbow in a gesture which offered nothing more than friendship.

"D'you remember Christmas?"

Ianto frowned, his gaze still hovering evasively away from Jack's eyes.

"You know. The last one we spent together."

Recognition dawned on Ianto's face.

"Oh," a small smile crept onto his lips, a tiny laugh huffing from his throat as memories clouded his vision. "Yeah. A bit of a disaster, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't say that," Jack glanced down at Ianto's leg, his hand twitching as he briefly contemplated resting it once more against the bony knee. It only took a few moments for him to decide against that course of action, his fingers stilling against the mattress and his eyes returning to Ianto's face.

"Someone once told me that, as long as you spend Christmas with the right person, it doesn't matter if you have nothing. Even a bucket of chicken and a bottle of cheap wine is a Christmas feast if you're in the right company."

He coughed and looked down.

"I guess…I didn't want to think about what it meant at the time…but you were the right person."

A part of him expected Ianto to look up, to meet his gaze and perhaps see the truth that was written there. But the young man remained still, his whole body tensed and his eyes carefully averted from the one place where he should be looking; as if he couldn't quite let their eyes meet, for fear of seeing something less than honest in the age-old eyes of his former lover.

"I was the right person?" his voice was little more than whisper. "Really?"

"Yup," Jack smiled. "You were the right person."

"I was the right person and you meant what you said when I was dying?"

"Yes. Ianto, you've got to believe me."

Ianto lowered his gaze, his hand coming up to rub against the back of his neck.

"I do believe you. I always have," he sighed. "The problem is…I'm not the right person _now_. At least, I'm not _that _person. Not anymore. If you couldn't say it then, but you can now…" Ianto bit his lip, teeth worrying against the flesh until a red droplet shone against the pale skin. "I'm not sure how much of me is left. Don't take this the wrong way but…I don't think… if you feel that way about the person I am now, rather than the person I was…I don't think I want it."

Ianto's voice was low and almost devoid of emotion, his hands grasped so tightly against the edge of bed that his veins stood to attention on his knuckles.

"I sound pathetic. I _am _pathetic. There's nothing left of me. Look at what I did to you – he's made me as bad as him, and you can feel _that way_ about the person I am now? I don't want that. I never wanted that."

There was something shimmering in his eyes as he stared at the floor, something that made Jack inch closer and grip his wrist tightly between his fingers.

"But don't you see," he tugged on Ianto's arm, forcing him to look up. "That _that's_ exactly the reason why I know that it's still _you_. You're still in there to hate the fact that you could be someone else. To hate the fact that you…well…did those things. You hate what you did, and that's exactly the reason why you are _not_ like him. You could only do that if you were still _you_, don't you see that? Please tell me you see that. You're still in there."

Ianto's began to swim with moisture, his unshed tears creating a shiny film that covered his grey-blue eyes.

"I don't know that."

"I _do_," Jack tightened his grip on Ianto's wrist, his thumb moving across the thrumming bump of his pulse-point. "You've got to believe me. You've got to trust me."

He tugged almost pleadingly on Ianto's arm, the desperation in the movement finally encouraging the young man to meet his gaze properly.

"Tell me you trust me."

Ianto teeth sank into his lip, his eyes searching Jack's gaze nervously.

"I always have."

Jack raised an eyebrow, a forced joviality shining through the sincerity that was heavy in the room.

"Liar."

The tiniest ghost of a smile brushed across Ianto's lips as Jack winked, the rough fingers moving upwards from his wrist until they rested on his shoulder blade.

"We can get through this. I know we can. We've dealt with bad things before. We can get through this together," Jack suddenly dropped his gaze, his tongue swiping out to moisten his dry lips. "That is, if you still want to. Do this together."

The smile on Ianto's lips widened, one side quirking upwards in that unique way that Jack had missed so much. Something that felt a little bit like relief fluttered in Jack's stomach as Ianto's hand came up to cover his own, fingers squeezing down gently before a nod tipped the pale face forward.

"I do still want that."

Jack breathed out, releasing the breath that he hadn't realised he'd been holding. His eyes closed briefly as he tightened his grip on Ianto's bare shoulder, a brief moment of serenity passing over him before his eyelids suddenly snapped open.

"Go on then."

Jack's eyes shone with a strange wildness as he spoke, his tone pulling a cloud of confusion over Ianto's features.

"What?"

Jack gnawed at his bottom lip, a sudden sheepishness descending over him as he dropped his gaze to where their hands rested on Ianto's shoulder.

"I think traditionally this is the point when you're supposed to say it back to me."

"Oh?" Ianto's confusion seemed to lift slightly. "Oh."

"Yeah."

Ianto's fingers clenched down hard over Jack's hand as her averted his gaze.

"You didn't."

"I was wrong," Jack licked his lips nervously, his hand slipping away from Ianto's grip to land in his lap. "You always were a better man than me."

A sudden kick caught him in the leg, a pain shooting up his ankle as Ianto's foot knocked roughly against his flesh. He turned, his mouth open in protest, only to find himself faced with a fire shining out from the blue – he took a moment to muse on the juxtaposition – of Ianto's eyes.

"Don't say that," the Welshman hissed, his eyes burning into Jack's with a fierceness that stopped him looking away. "I might be going crazy, but I still won't let you say that. I won't let you even think it. You can't. I won't let you. I…"

A little of the fire was quenched as Ianto's voice seemed to catch, the words strangled together in his throat. He swallowed a few times, closing his eyes for a few brief moments before wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the chill.

"I do. I do love you. I love you," a tiny smile spread across his face as a blush crept warmly onto his cheeks. "You won't believe how hard that was to say now that I'm not faced with imminent, permanent death. How screwed up is that?"

Jack pursed his lips and tilted his head understandingly.

"Not too screwed up. Why do you think I never say it?"

A tiny chuckle, only slightly forced, reverberated up from Ianto's chest.

"Because you're never faced with permanent death. Which is not something that normal people usually have to contend with. Your circumstances are ever so slightly screwed up. This sort of hammers home my point."

Jack seemed to think for a few moments, the silence palpable in the room as his brain ticked over. Eventually he conceded the point, nodding silently as his elbow once again nudged against Ianto's arm. The brief contact was enough to fill the awkwardness of the silence, some of the tension that had hung in the air dissipating slightly with the brush of skin on skin.

"Does this mean that we're a couple now?" he asked suddenly, immediately regretting the question as Ianto tensed; the young man seemed to curl in on himself, his whole body deflating and scrunching together as the word 'couple' fell from Jack's lips.

"I don't think I can…Jack…I'm sorry…" his eyes were dry as he spoke, his shoulders high against his chin and his voice lowered to a whisper. "I just can't. Not now. Not like this…it's not that I don't want to, it's just…"

"Hey, don't worry," Jack hooked an arm around Ianto's shoulders, rubbing a hand reassuringly against his arm; very much like his father had done to him when he was a child. "I understand. I do. Don't worry."

He waited for a few moments, letting Ianto take in his words and giving time for his shaking, tense breaths to calm down before he carried on.

"I never told you what happened when I was away that time," he said softly, keeping up the gentle rhythm of his hand on Ianto's arm. "But it was bad. I think you worked that out – you all did, I know you're not stupid. I'm not going to tell you what happened, not yet, but it was really bad. There were times when I thought I was going insane…I thought I'd never be myself again, like I'd had something stolen that I couldn't get back."

Ianto swallowed and licked his lips, his shoulders still tense beneath Jack's arm.

"I can relate to that," he tried for a laugh, but quickly held it back as it came out as something that sounded more like a whimper. Jack tightened his grip for a few seconds before loosening it, letting that brief moment of tightness reassure Ianto that it was okay – at least, as okay as it was going to be.

"You know what got me through that, though? You know what got me back from that darkness?"

Ianto shook his head, his eyes boring so deeply into the floor that his pupils seemed to cross haphazardly.

"It was you."

A smile creased the sides of Jack's mouth as Ianto looked up quizzically, his mouth falling open as the words sank in.

"Me?"

"You. Well, all of you, but you especially. When I came back I had no idea whether I'd ever find myself again in all that darkness – I didn't know whether I could ever be that person again, that person that you all expected to come back. But you helped me to get myself back. Not because we had sex – even though we did – or because we went on a few dates, or even because we were an item. I'm not even sure we were back then. I don't know. I don't think even matters, now. All that matters is that you got me back because you were there. You stayed with me, and you talked to me, and you drank with me, and you listened. Despite everything that I'd ever done to you, and through all that we were doing together, you were my friend. And I really, _really_ needed a friend."

He dropped his arm from around Ianto's shoulders so that he could pull away, clasping his hands in his lap and looking the young man up and down.

"Now, I don't know about you…but I could really do with a friend right now."

There was a moment of silence as Ianto's eyes searched Jack's face, his eyes seeming to scrape away at every crevice to get hold of the honesty that shone from beneath. Jack held himself as still as he possibly could, his eyes remaining fixed on the young man – even when the ferocity and thoroughness of the searching gaze seemed to burn into his skin, he fought against his instincts and stopped himself from turning away.

It was uncomfortable, but necessary. Ianto had lived in a world of lies – many of them his own – for far too long. He didn't trust anyone, even himself, and that was a cycle that Jack was determined to break. He knew that he held more of Ianto's trust than most people could ever hope to own. He didn't know if he deserved it, but he'd be damned if he was going to throw it away or abuse it. He was going to earn it.

After some time, Ianto's eyes met Jack's and a small smile quirked at the corner of his mouth.

"I'd like a friend," he said quietly, that trust brimming in his eyes. "Not that I don't ever want more, but just…not right now. Right now, I think I need a friend, too."

A grin split Jack's face as he covered Ianto's hand with his own, locking their fingers together subconsciously.

"Okay, then," he stopped suddenly, suddenly realising what he'd done and pulling his hand away. "Sorry…is that too much? Where are we drawing the line here? I don't…"

He was stopped as Ianto cupped his face and drew him forward into a kiss. It wasn't passionate or romantic – it was the brushing of lips together in a way that Jack was almost tempted to call _chaste_. Jack closed his eyes and moved his hand, linking their fingers together on the soft mattress as he let Ianto take complete control of the direction of the kiss. The last few times they had kissed – since they had found Ianto – it had been rough and passionate and full of a desperate need that pushed all tenderness to the side. This was different. Ianto didn't open his mouth, didn't invite Jack to take it further, so Jack settled for what Ianto _was _giving him.

It was soft. It was gentle. It was _friendly_.

Eventually Ianto broke away, his hand resting on Jack's shoulder as he moved backwards and flashed the tiniest of smiles.

"There's your boundary," he said quietly, his eyes dropping to his still-naked form. "Although, I would rather like to be clothed next time."

Jack grinned.

"A friendly, clothed kiss? I like that."

"You like it?" Ianto raised an eyebrow, the sardonic gesture sending another wave of relief crashing through Jack's stomach. "If you carry on like this you'll make people think you've been domesticated."

Jack's grin widened as he squeezed down on Ianto's hand.

"Now that," he glanced down at their hands, the smile dancing wildly on his lips. "That really _would_ be a shock now, wouldn't it?"

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**TBC...**

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_Thank you for reading!_

_I hope the 'talk' didn't seem out of character. I hope I managed to capture something truthful in those moments. If you have any comments at all about it, please let me know, as I am incredibly nervous about this one. Thank you!_


	26. Chapter 25

_A/N: Okay, guys, come clean time. I'm struggling with Torchwood. I'm on the verge of leaving the fandom. I'm going to continue with this fiction, but my inspiration is at an all time low. It actually physically hurt to get this chapter out - I love writing for this fandom and I love the characters, but the direction Torchwood has taken in real life has broken my heart. I was so upset with Torchwood that I actually had to write this chapter from an entirely Doctor Who POV in order to get it done - I like the final result, and I hope you do to, but I just couldn't bring myself to write this chapter like a Torchwood fiction. It is actually damaging my mental wellbeing being a member of this fandom. I don't want to let it go, but there's nothing else I can do. My relationship with the Torchwood fandom is unhealthy in the extreme at the minute. I can't be part of a fandom that I am getting nothing out of. BUT - fanfiction is a different matter. Writing it was harder since I'd made the decision, but it didn't stop me from doing it. This is my baby, and I'm not just going to abandon it for something else. _

_I could really use some words of encouragement right now. Encouragement that this is worth continuing with, considering how difficult the last week has been regarding me and Torchwood. I write for you, primarily - I used to write for myself, but as this fiction has progressed I have started writing it for you. And I am so close to pulling away, I need to know whether it's worth it. I love you_

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**Served Cold**

**Chapter 25**

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Amy led the way, of course. Equals they may be, but equality had always required balance; she went forward and he held back. It was a like a seesaw that they just about managed to balance – sometimes one of them would find their toes brushing against the ground, but most of the time they managed to remain suspended, the both of them, in the air.

Her feet hopped quietly against the Tardis floor as she rather begrudgingly allowed Rory to stand firmly, protectively, at her back. Aside from the tap of her feet – a sound which Rory only heard because he was listening for it, the sound always a reassurance of her presence – there was an eerie silence that hung heavily in the air. It was if the very engines of the Tardis had been stilled by everything that had happened; finally, something too mad, too bizarre and too mind-bending for even this timeless ship to endure. The gentle thrumming that usually wound its way through every cell of the air had been silenced. Rory swallowed hard. He'd stopped noticing the gentle hum of the engines a long time ago, and their absence felt louder than anything he had ever felt in his life.

The screwdriver was still clasped in his hand, his fingers digging into the metal length as he followed the flurry of fiery hair ahead of him. He had no idea how to use it, but he hoped that the Doctor had given it to him for a reason. He _knew_ the Doctor had given it to him for a reason. He just wished he knew _what_ that reason was. The frustration bubbled up inside him with each step, his fingers tightening around the screwdriver until he felt his veins popping out from his knuckles.

"How do we do this?" he hissed at Amy, breaking into a slight jog so that he could draw up alongside her. "This place is a maze. He could be anywhere."

"We'll find him," her voice was as determined as she had ever been; it bore that self-assured confidence that had always sent a spark of courage shooting straight through him. But he didn't feel it this time. His frustration and irritation and _helplessness _was like a pot of water boiling over, the hissing liquid spilling over the sides and drowning out everything else.

"_How_ do we find him?" he could feel his nails digging into his palm around the screwdriver, his skin screaming at him as it threatened to break under the pressure. "Wishful thinking won't get us anywhere. No one ever found anyone by using crossed fingers as a compass. Something more solid than that would be helpful…"

"Christ," Amy spun around, her hand whipping around to smack him across the arm. "Would you just shut up for two minutes? We'll never get anywhere if you're whinging the whole time. I'm trying to concentrate."

"And I'm trying to be realistic," he retorted, rubbing at the top of his arm where her knuckles had smarted against the skin. "We can't do this."

"It was your idea," Amy's eyes narrowed as squared up to him. "You were the one who decided you were going to do your 'noble knight' act. Perhaps you should have thought that through before deciding to be a big damned hero."

"Like the Doctor you mean?"

Amy stepped back as if she had been slapped.

"What?"

"You know what I mean, Amy," he took a few steps forward, running his free hand through his hair. "He does exactly the same thing and it all works out in the end. He dives in without thinking, without planning ahead, and yet somehow he manages to make it all come together. He doesn't have to try to be a big damned hero; he just _is_. I can't be that, and I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you. I never wanted to do that. I just wanted to _help_. Nobody else was going to do it. I couldn't just…leave them like that. I couldn't."

He began to toss the screwdriver from one hand to the other, the metal slapping against his palms as his eyes seemed hypnotised by the rapid movement. Amy's teeth gnawed against her bottom lip, tugging gently at the flesh as she watched him move away from her.

"Oh, Rory…"

"I'm just a nurse from a tiny little village that no one's ever heard of," he continued barely aware of her present. "I can't even pass my exams to become a doctor. Why I ever thought I could even begin to _help_ with something like this, I have no idea."

Amy inched forward behind him, hesitating for a few brief moments before letting her hand settle on his shoulder. He jumped at her touch, his head snapping around to focus on the fingers that were curled around his shoulder blade. Eventually he managed to raise his gaze to her eyes.

"I never meant to disappoint you, you know," a tiny laugh escaped him, a huff of air which ruffled through Amy's hair. "I never really wanted to be a nurse. Not really. It was never on my plan of things to do. But then, I thought, I could…I dunno…be a doctor for you. Your own doctor. I thought it would give me more of a chance."

A tiny smile spread across Amy's face as he spoke, a slight sadness tingeing the gesture as she took note of the desolate look in her fiancé's eyes. Her hand tightened against his shoulder, squeezing down and pulling him closer until her mouth was hovering just above his ear.

"You're an idiot. You know that?"

He ducked his head away, desperate to remain as despondent as before and yet unable to resist the reassuringly teasing tone of her voice. His hand came to rub against his lips, desperately trying to hide the similar grin that was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Shut up," a blush crept over his cheeks, drawing a tiny laugh from her lips as she spun him around.

"You're _both _idiots. Both of you. You and the Doctor. But _you…_" she lifted her hand from his shoulder and poked him in the chest. "…_you_ are _my _idiot."

The blush seemed to drain from Rory's face as she placed his name alongside the Doctor's. He was instantaneously catapulted backwards into those days when Amy had encouraged him to dress up as her 'Raggedy Doctor': making him eat fish fingers and custard, having him talk on and on about huge eyes and cracks and spaceships until he was sure that it wasn't actually him that she was seeing anymore. But he wasn't like the Doctor. That was make-believe. He'd never heard her put them together in that way before - and he wasn't really sure he liked it.

"I'm not like…" he stopped abruptly as her last few words suddenly seemed to register, the frown falling from his face. "I am? Yours? Really?"

The look on his face was so incredibly pleased that Amy couldn't help but break into a fit of giggles. Her arms came up, her fingers curling around Rory's upper arms as she pulled him towards him; her thumbs were roving in tiny, abstract patterns along the skin on the inside of his arm, the pads of the digits tickling reassuringly against his skin. A smile split the sides of his mouth as she enclosed him in the prison of her arms, the look of sheer, almost giddy happiness seeming to make his face shine.

As his eyes glinted, Amy once again felt that stomach-plummeting sensation she had felt in the dream world; that clenching, gripping feeling that had led to her getting into the van and driving into a wall. It was like a gaping hole had opened up beneath her, and she was plunging down into the depths of some dark, new, unknown world. It terrified her. It was something that she had never expected to feel, not really. Even in the years when their friendship had gradually developed into something that could almost be called a relationship – though she had always hated the word 'boyfriend' – she had never, _ever _expected to feel like this. And she'd never realised, not until everything had been snatched away in the cruellest and most sudden of circumstances.

She knew that she had been given a second chance to acknowledge those feelings properly. Her thoughts were plunged back into reality, to the two men who had been curled so helplessly together on the bloodstained sheets. She had lost Rory for the briefest of moments when they were under the spell of the Dream Lord, and yet, even in those painful minutes, there had always been that chance of salvation: they would have died and woken up in the real world, or she would have been killed there and then. Either way, she could have escaped the pain that was plunging a knife into her heart. Jack had never had that kind of salvation. He had had no way of bringing Ianto back and no way of ending his own pain. And even when they had found Ianto, alive, it had not been the quick fix that she had experienced with her Rory. Her relationship was strong as a result of everything that had happened – Jack and Ianto's was damaged, splintered and fragile to a point where the feelings just weren't enough.

Amy Pond was a lucky girl. She tightened her grip on Rory's arms, wanting to get as close to him as she possibly could. She wanted to breathe in his scent, feel his warmth, hear him babbling in her ear in that nervous, idiotic way he had always had. She wanted him to look at her in that way that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world; wanted to look into his eyes and see that look of complete and utter disbelief at having won her, just so that she could rebuke him for ever, _ever _thinking that he wasn't good enough.

"Of course you are," she whispered. "Of course you are _my _idiot." And with that she leaned forward, one hand cupping the back of his neck to pull him towards her. He followed her movement, kissing her softly as she melded every inch of her body against his. Every single contour seemed to fit in a mad, haphazard sort of way; elbows knocked together, curves slid against one another, fingers fumbled in a clumsy and not-particularly-smooth way that was utterly perfect in its sheer imperfection.

'_Don't you ever _breathe_?'_

The sound of the Doctor's bemused voice cut through the silence, forcing them to jump apart as the familiar sound took them completely by surprise. Rory reluctantly relaxed his grip on Amy's frame, turning away from her to try and work out just where the source of the voice was – there seemed to be no sign of the Doctor in the corridor that they were currently in, and the words had been far too distinct for them to have been shouted from around a corner. Whereas for a few, brief moments he had felt the reassuring familiarity of Amy and her touch, the frustration, irritation and confusion of just a short while previously came flooding back to him.

"Doctor?"

"_Ah, so you can hear me over the noise of the all that…"_ they heard the Doctor smack his lips together a few times, the wet, slapping sound echoing through the space. Rory's frown furrowed further as the clear sound perforated the air, despite the lack of any actual _physical _lips that could possibly be making the noise.

"Doctor," Amy stepped in, the look of confusion on her face mirroring that of her fiancé. "Where are you? Where's your voice coming from?"

The slapping sound stopped.

"_Hmmm? What was that?"_

"She said," Rory took a breath, flailing for a brief moment before deciding that the best thing to do would be to face in the same direction as Amy. "Where are you?"

'_Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry about that. I was distracted. You do know that, for a Time Lord of my extreme wisdom and stature, human mating rituals are very, very distracting? So, technically, it's your fault. You should stop being so distracting. It's…well…distracting.'_

Rory turned red.

"We weren't mating," he shuffled his feet across the floor, using the sonic screwdriver to scratch nervously at the back of his neck. "We were…reassuring each other affectionately."

'_Yes. Well. Stop it.'_

"Doctor…"Amy rolled his eyes, crossing her arms and wishing that she could actually see the man in question – if only so that she could fix him with a disapproving glare.

'_Sorry. Yes. Location. Well, believe it or not, I'm actually in the console room.'_

"But," Rory shot Amy a confused glance, the mirroring uncertainty he found in her eyes not doing anything to reassure him. "How can you be talking to us? The console room is miles away – probably literally."

'_Well, my dear Rory – and no, it's not miles, so please stop whinging_ _about that – this ship of mine is really quite a marvellously wonderful thing. In one aspect you're right – I can't actually talk to you from the console room when you are way off wherever you are – but the Tardis is a sentient being. She has a living core, fuelled by the Time Vortex, and as a result of that she is more of a living being than actual machinery. She talks to me all the time – you just can't hear her, because human beings of your time are that teensy little bit too primitive to be able to do something requiring a more advanced level of psychic ability.'_

"Oi!" Amy pouted, her disapproving tone cutting his explanation short. "What did I tell you about respecting the humans whilst I'm here?"

'_It's true!'_ Rory could hear the mirroring pout in his voice, even if he couldn't actually see the man's face. _'The Tardis thrives on psychic energy. All I had to do was relay my thoughts through the psychic energy which runs through the ship – think neutrons passing messages from the brain into the individual portions of your body - into the correct place for you to pick up on them. Retune some of the psychic levels, a few adjustments of the internal systems and frequencies, and voila! I can relay specific thoughts to you without actually having to speak or ring you or otherwise let my evil devious plans be known to anyone of questionable means. Only specific ones mind you. I set up a filter. There's a lot of stuff in this noggin that you really, really would never be prepared to get your primitive little human teeth into. D'you still have the screwdriver?'_

It took a few moments for the sudden change of direction to register with Rory. His mind had started to wander through sheer survival instinct as the Doctor's long-winded explanation had continued, and it took the sharp sting of Amy's elbow making contact with his ribs to drag him back to the task at hand. He fumbled, the screwdriver suddenly feeling very large and very cumbersome in his hand, finally managing to gain control of his own sweaty palms and hold the screwdriver up to the air.

'_Are you holding the screwdriver in the air, Rory_?'

He nodded, his mouth suddenly dry as he realised the true power of the implement now grasped in his hand.

'_Are you nodding?'_

A frown crumpled Rory's features.

"Yes, I…"

'_I can't see you, Rory, remember? Not. Helpful.'_

The blush that had not quite left Rory's cheeks began to deepen for the third time that day – he could feel his frustration bubble up to the surface as he failed to hold back the crimson tide, just about restraining himself in time to avoid stamping his foot angrily on the floor.

"Sorry," he muttered.

'_Let's try again. Do you have the screwdriver?'_

"Yes, I do," he shoved one hand into his pocket, his anxiety of earlier – the memories of just why they were here, what they were doing, and the situation that was facing them – suddenly flooding back and sending a spark of apprehension through his brain. "I don't know what you want me to do with it. You said I had to use it, but you didn't tell me why. I want to help them, but I can't do that if you're going to be vague and mysterious. It doesn't wash with me, Doctor. You can't do it, not now. Now's not the time to be…

'_All you have to do is aim the screwdriver and press the button. It's as simple as that. It's all I need you to do. I've already set it to the correct setting. You're big enough and ugly enough to look after yourselves out there, and, anyway, I needed to stay behind so I could twiddle with the settings back here at the console, to keep everything going so that you have an easier job. I've tuned it to the psychic energy of the Tardis, so the sonic frequencies are running along the same line is the psychic energies. With a little redirecting and fine tuning, this means that they can interrupt a certain level of brainwave. It's all a bit complicated and wordy and technical for simple village folk such as yourselves…'_

Amy growled.

'_Woops. Sorry. Won't do it again, I promise. Well, maybe. But, anyway, distractions are bad. Basically, everyone has a different and distinct psychic print; very much like our fingerprints are unique to us and only us; and by combining the psychic energies and the sonic frequencies, the Tardis can focus in on one person. It can alter those brainwaves through the exposure of the sonic waves that come from the screwdriver. I've set it so it can subdue him, neutralise him in the least intrusive and dangerous way possible. It's the closest to a placid solution that I could come to in the time limit given.'_

Something ticked uncomfortably in the back of Rory's mind as the Doctor spoke. All of the training, that had become a second nature to him during his brief time working as a nurse, came flooding back to him. He knew he might not have been good enough to actually qualify as a doctor, but he was a damned sight quicker than the majority of people bothered to give him credit for. He also knew that he had cared more than anyone on that course, because he wasn't doing it for him. He was doing it for her. And that had made it seem like it was _so much more_ than just a job.

"Doctor," he said quietly, his tight grip around the sonic screwdriver loosening a little as a terrible thought struck him. "Why didn't you tell Jack?"

'_What?' _both of the humans could hear the Doctor choke on the word, the feigned nonchalance and joviality that he did so well not quite holding strong this time.

"You wouldn't tell us in the room," Rory's voice remained quiet, yet it was somehow stronger than the loud, forced confidence of the Timelord. "You waited till now, to tell us like this. You've never done that before. You've never needed to. Which means that you didn't tell us for a reason. And I think that reason is that you didn't want Jack to hear. So why not? What didn't you want him to know?"

Silence hung in the air – no, not in the air, in their minds. It was like a vast silence was filling their heads, the feeling of emptiness almost nauseating now that the incessant ramble of the Doctor's thought-speak was stilled.

'_I'm not one hundred percent sure it's going to work,'_ the sound of the Doctor's voice echoed through their heads again, the tone completely different and tinged with the deep, intense sadness that often swam in his eyes. _'I've never done this before. The monsters are usually _outside_ the Tardis. It's totally theoretical that it's going to work at all. It could go wrong.'_

There was a brief pause as the Doctor coughed nervously - that he had done that even though he was only channelling his thoughts rather than his actual words would have raised eyebrows, if the two humans were not completely focused on the task at hand.

"Doctor, speak to us," Amy lowered her tone coaxingly, her fingers twitching as she ached to rest a gentle hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "There's something else, isn't there? You're rubbish at hiding things. Just tell us. It could go wrong. Okay. What else?"

'_I've fiddled the settings." _

"You what?"

'_I can alter the brainwaves. But that goes further than just knocking him out. I can change the waves – not build something new, but edit what's already there.'_

"Doctor," Amy snaked her hand around to link her fingers with Rory's. "What have you done?"

It was if a sigh permeated their minds – it wasn't a physical sound, but the feeling of complete and utter weariness overwhelmed their thoughts.

'_I can't fix him. There's no chance for him. He'll have to be locked up forever, or he'll keep escaping and these things will keep happening. I don't want that. Jack doesn't want that. So, it's not just going to knock him out. It's going to change him. It's going to take his memories back to his childhood, before he was taken away from his family. Everything that has made him the person he is is going to be erased.'_

There was an audible gasp.

"But…" Amy's eyes were wild as they flicked around the room, suddenly desperate for a physical incarnation of the Doctor; she wanted to look into his eyes. "Doctor you can't do that. You said that you wouldn't do that to Ianto, so why to him? Jack will never…"

'_That's why I didn't tell him. He's not thinking straight. I would never let him do that to Ianto because it would destroy him. Jones is still in there, he's salvageable, I've always believed that. I know it. The Tardis - she's been inside his head and she knows that he's still there to be saved. I don't care what happens, I won't see both of them destroyed; Jack and Ianto would both be destroyed if I let Jack erase his memories. But Gray – he's a different story. He's beyond anyone's help. We can save him by doing this, we can let him be the person that he wants to be. We can let the little boy grow up happily. I don't like it. The only other option is to kill him or imprison him, and I won't let either of those happen. He doesn't deserve that, whatever he's done. This is the _only_ way. I'm sorry.'_

Rory looked at Amy, noting the conflicting emotions washing across her face. He knew that he was experiencing exactly the same thing. It went against everything that he had ever thought – everything that he had ever known. It felt like they were playing God, something that he had sworn never to do. He was a nurse. He helped progress forward, he didn't push them back. It went against everything – _everything _– but he couldn't think of anything else. And he could feel from the way Amy's fingers tightened around his own, that she was feeling exactly the same way.

"Okay," he said softly, each word burning like acid on his tongue. "We just point and press. Is that right?"

'_Yes. Point and press. Simple as that. But this is still a delicate operation. Think of it as like stitching up a wound. If he tugs away, it'll get worse. It would be better if he didn't know you were doing it. There's less of a likelihood of permanent damage being done if you can get him when he's in a state of semi-calm. Whatever you do, don't let him get agitated…"_

But, before the Doctor could finish his instructions, a hand wrapped itself around Rory's neck, yanking him backwards away from Amy. He stumbled slightly, choking as the arm tightened around his throat and yanked him back so that the only thing holding him up was the skinny frame. The rapid thrumming of a heartbeat thundered ominously against his back, his whole body stiffening in panic as rasping, anger-filled breath smarted like fire at the nape of his neck.

And that's when he felt the blade against his throat.

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**TBC…**

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_Thank you for reading. _

_Not much Torchwood - but I just couldn't do it. I hope you all think it was worth it - if you do, then I will continue with this. I don't want to let it go, but I'm teetering on a tightrope. If you have any comments, please let me know. I could also do with hug. Got any going spare?_


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